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€t)e  €jreter  Eectureg 


LECTURES 

DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  STUDENTS  OF 
PHILLIPS  EXETER  ACADEMY 
1885-1886 


BY 


Presidents  McCOSH,  WALKER,  BARTLETT, 
ROBINSON,  PORTER,  and  CARTER,  and 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
(3t&e  ifttoertfttte  Camfcri&oe 
1887 


-i^/V 

& 


Copyright,  1887, 

By  The  Trustees  of  the  Phillips  Exeter  Academy. 

All  rights  reserved . 


The  Riverside  Press , Cambridge  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  & Co. 


PREFACE. 


During  the  year  1885-1886,  a course  of  lectures 
was  delivered  by  a number  of  eminent  scholars  to  the 
students  of  Phillips  Exeter  Academy,  at  Exeter,  in 
New  Hampshire.  Some  of  these  gentlemen  have  con- 
sented to  the  publication  of  their  lectures,  and  the 
Trustees  feel  assured  that  the  Alumni  of  the  Acad- 
emy, and  others  interested  in  similar  institutions,  will 
be  gratified  with  the  opportunity  thus  afforded  to  sat- 
isfy the  interest  which  the  list  of  names  and  subjects 
appended  cannot  fail  to  awaken. 

Boston,  May  25,  1887. 


5)  7U 


CONTENT 


PAGE 


PHYSICAL,  MENTAL,  AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES  . 1 

By  Rev.  Edward  Eyerett  Hale,  D.  D.  September  29, 

1885. 

HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE  IN  THE  TRAINING 

AT  SCHOOL 25 

By  James  McCosh,  D.  D.,  LL.  D.,  President  of  Princeton 
College.  November  19,  1885. 

^ SOCIALISM 47 

By  Francis  A.  Walker,  LL.  D.,  President  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Institute  of  Technology.  January  14,  1886. 

THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT  IN  SCHOLARSHIP  . 79 

By  Samuel  C.  Bartlett,  D.  D.,  LL.  D.,  President  of  Dart- 
mouth College.  February  18,  1886. 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE 100 

By  Franklin  Carter,  Ph.  D.,  LL.  D.,  President  of  Wil- 
liams College.  May  6,  1886. 

MEN:  MADE,  SELF-MADE,  AND  UNMADE 125 

By  E.  G.  Robinson,  D.  D.,  LL.  D.,  President  of  Brown 
University.  March  18,  1886. 

f THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR 145 

By  Noah  Porter,  D.  D.,  LL.  D.,  President  of  Yale  Uni- 
versity. April  27,  1886. 

BIOGRAPHY 179 

By  Rev.  Phillips  Brooks,  D.  D.,  March  4, 1886. 


/ 


PHYSICAL,  MENTAL,  AND  SPIRITUAL 
EXERCISES. 


In  opening  this  course  of  Lectures,  I have  thought 
we  might  spend  an  hour  to  advantage  in  considering 
the  relations  of  bodily  training  to  mental  training, 
and  in  looking  for  some  of  the  “ ties  and  dependen- 
cies ” by  which  body  and  mind  both  are  swayed  by 
the  soul  of  man,  — or  might  be.  At  work  as  you  are, 
you  are  interested,  and  should  be  interested,  in  phys- 
ical exercises,  and  these  will  be  considered  in  these 
Lectures.  We  ought  to  be  curious  as  to  their  relation 
to  mental  training,  for  which  so  much  of  your  work 
here  is  devoted,  and  we  must  ask  how  we  are  to  gain 
more  of  the  life,  the  strength  of  will,  character,  and 
purposes,  by  which  alone  can  the  man  make  his  bodily 
strength  or  his  mental  discipline  to  be  of  any  real 
value. 

Any  man  who  knows  American  life  in  this  time 
knows  the  temptation  which  there  is  to  relegate  to 
certain  seasons  of  the  year  one  or  other  of  these  lines 
of  training,  and  to  wait  till  another  season  comes  be- 
fore we  take  up  another.  One  can  imagine  a man 
like  a college  instructor  I once  knew,  who  said  he  had 
settled  once  for  all  the  problems  of  his  religious  life, 
and  was  now  ready  to  carry  forward  his  mental  disci- 
l 


2 


PHYSICAL , MENTAL , 


pline  ; and  we  can  imagine  the  same  man  determining 
to  throw  his  physical  exercise  into  two  or  three  sum- 
mer months  in  the  Adirondack^,  or  at  Bar  Harbor. 
You  would  say  that  if  I described  such  a division  of 
duty,  it  would  be  a burlesque.  But  it  does  not  differ 
from  the  division  which  an  undergraduate  at  Cam- 
bridge makes,  who  devotes  all  his  autumn  to  training 
for  a match  in  running  or  in  walking,  — sure  that 
when  December  comes  he  can  put  on  double  steam 
and  “cram”  for  his  semi-annuals;  of  whom,  if  you 
should  ask  what  was  happening  to  his  soul,  — where 
he  was  looking  for  strength  of  will,  for  force  and  char- 
acter, — he  would  say  that  they  must  wait  for  a more 
convenient  season.  I shall  be  very  glad  if  I can  show 
any  one  how  body,  mind,  and  soul  must  be  trained  to- 
gether ; that  their  training  cannot  be  subdivided  by 
any  of  our  whimsical  systems.  We  must  learn  that 
the  training  of  the  man  is  all  important,  and  that 
when  this  is  rightly  ordered  the  man  controls  — yes, 
with  absolute  sway  — the  mind  and  the  body.  They 
are  two  hounds  in  the  leash,  — they  must  be  held  sub- 
ordinate to  the  bidding  of  the  imperial  soul. 

All  that  I am  to  say  of  physical  exercise,  or  of 
mental  discipline,  is  said  in  the  hope  of  securing  this 
absolute  control. 

And  I will  not  speak  simply  as  if  you  were  always 
to  have  the  order  of  your  time  and  training  regulated 
for  you,  as  it  is  done  here.  The  time  is  coming  — nay, 
for  many  of  you  will  come  soon  — when  you  must  for 
yourselves  select  and  establish  the  law  of  your  daily 
lives.  I shall  fail  wholly  to-night  if  I do  not  show 
you  that  each  day  must  be  consecrated,  not  to  one, 
but  to  three  lines  of  education ; though  indeed  the 
three  ought  to  be  all  turned  together  into  one.  I want 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES. 


3 


to  show  you  that,  in  each  separate  day,  there  must  be 
conscious  effort  in  the  development  of  Body,  Mind, 
and  Soul. 


First  of  all,  speaking  to  young  men,  — and  I am 
glad  to  see  that  I am  speaking  to  young  women  also,  — 
my  advice  to  them,  precisely  because  they  are  at  what 
has  been  called  the  omnipotent  age,  is  not  to  attempt 
omnipotence.  At  the  best  you  will  be  under  many 
limitations,  and  it  is  well  that  you  should  be.  Home 
has  demands.  The  laws  of  school  are  demands.  The 
university  will  have  demands.  Society  has  demands. 
Thus,  you  must  receive  visits  and  make  them.  You 
must  eat  and  drink  ; perhaps  you  must  buy  your  food, 
or  prepare  it,  or  arrange  the  table.  You  must  wear 
clothes ; perhaps  you  have  to  earn  the  money  which 
pays  for  them ; perhaps  it  is  your  place  to  make 
them.  Or  there  are  younger  brothers  and  sisters  in 
the  family  : it  is  your  place  to  take  a fair  share  in  the 
charge  of  them.  Simply  speaking,  you  are  in  a world 
where  you  are  knit  in  with  other  people.  Accept  that 
position  once  for  all,  and  do  not  struggle  against  it. 

Watching  life  as  it  is,  and  striking  a rough  average 
of  different  experiences,  I am  apt  to  say  to  my  young 
friends  who  are  making  their  own  plans  that,  at  the 
beginning,  they  had  better  satisfy  themselves  with 
marking  out  the  use  which  they  will  make  of  two  or 
three  hours  a day.  As  things  are,  I think  that  will  be 
as  much  as  they  can  generally  manage  well.  I mean 
to  say  that  most  young  men  owe  their  employers  ten 
hours  of  the  working-day,  or  they  belong  to  a college 
or  an  academy  for  that  time.  If,  beside  that,  they  can 
manage  two  hours,  whether  in  the  evening  or  in  the 


4 


PHYSICAL , MENTAL , 


early  morning,  for  their  own  uses,  I think  they  had 
better  be  satisfied  ; only  crowd  these  hours  full.  The 
same  is  true  of  young  women  who  are  engaged  in 
shops,  in  offices,  or  in  other  regular  vocations  away 
from  home.  And,  to  continue  to  speak  with  the  same 
precision,  young  women  who  are  at  home,  without  a 
profession,  calling,  or  vocation,  will  have  domestic 
duties  such  as  I alluded  to,  and  social  calls,  which  are 
duties  also,  so  frequent  and  making  such  demands  on 
vital  powers  that  they  had  better  not  form  plans,  as 
I believe,  for  more  than  three  hours  in  a day.  The 
young  woman  who  fights  for  more  fights  at  disad- 
vantage ; she  has  not  her  work  well  in  hand,  and  is 
constantly  worried  and  worn.  The  apparent  difference 
between  the  two  hours’  people  and  the  three  hours’ 
people,  as  I have  divided  them,  is  not,  in  fact,  real. 
There  are  advantages  which  belong  to  the  first  class, 
as  I think  we  shall  see. 

I am,  also,  in  the  habit  of  advising  in  a very  me- 
chanical and  wooden  way,  if  you  please,  when  I offer 
suggestions  as  to  the  use  of  these  hours : — 

Divide  them  between  body,  mind,  and  soul,  and,  if 
you  are  at  all  afraid  of  a mistake,  divide  them  evenly. 
Take  an  hour  for  bodily  exercise  ; take  an  hour  for 
the  training’  of  your  mind  ; and  also  one  hour  in  such 
work  for  others,  such  talk  with  God,  or  for  both,  that 
you  may  be  more  manly  and  more  womanly,  more 
like  him,  when  the  day  has  gone  by.  The  counsel  is 
sufficiently  wooden  to  be  remembered.  In  practice, 
of  course,  it  can  be  deviated  from  in  detail.  You  see 
that  the  three  uses  of  time  may  all  be  subserved  at 
once.  All  the  same,  it  is  true  that  each  day,  and  the 
part  of  it  for  which  you  are  responsible,  ought  to  see 
you  advance  in  the  training  of  body,  mind,  and  soul. 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES . 


5 


Now,  with  regard  to  the  first  of  these,  those  of  you 
who  have  had  to  walk  to  an  office,  or  a shop,  or  to  rec- 
itations, in  the  morning,  and  back  at  night,  have 
managed  your  physical  exercise  by  the  way.  You 
have  then  your  two  hours  free  for  the  intellectual 
training  you  seek,  and  for  your  unselfish  duties ; and 
that  is  all  that,  under  our  plan,  those  persons  who 
have  no  stated  vocation  which  calls  them  out-of-doors 
are  to  devote  to  these  cares. 

Mechanical  as  this  subdivision  seems,  I have  found 
it,  in  a thousand  cases,  convenient  to  make  it,  relying, 
of  course,  on  good  sense  and  good  feeling  to  interpret 
and  administer  the  rule.  Nor  have  I ever  known, 
whether  in  written  biography  or  in  the  experience  of 
others  confided  to  me,  a case  of  disordered  life  or  of 
low  spirits,  which  are  the  signs  of  disordered  life, 
which  could  not  be  improved  by  a fair  administration 
of  a rule  so  simple  even  if  it  be  wooden.  Low  spirits 
are  the  sign  that  something  is  wrong.  When  your 
patient  finds  that  he  is  in  protracted  low  spirits,  make 
him  tell  whether  in  his  management  of  a day  he  does 
not  neglect  his  bodily  exercise,  or  his  mental  training, 
or  that  unselfish  life,  — that  life  of  God  and  man  which 
a man’s  soul  requires. 

In  such  an  attack  of  depressed  spirits,  it  has  become 
now  almost  a commonplace  to  say  at  once  that  the 
patient  probably  needs  physical  exercise,  and  so  to 
send  him  out  to  row  in  a boat,  to  take  a walk,  or  to 
ride  on  horseback.  Here  is  a crude  recognition  of  the 
necessity  involved.  But  it  is  not  certain  that  the  de- 
ficiency is  the  need  of  physical  exercise.  There  are 
men  and  women  who  have  exercise  enough  in  the  open 
air,  who  know  only  too  well  what  are  the  terrors  of 
depressed  spirits.  The  danger  is  the  danger  of  any 


6 


PHYSICAL , MENTAL, 


want  of  balance.  That  man  knows  it  who  is  caring 
only  for  his  physical  exercise  ; that  man  knows  it 
who  is  caring  only  for  his  books  and  intellectual  train- 
ing ; and  alas,  many  a man  and  many  a woman  have 
known  it  who  have  devoted  all  their  powers  only  to 
religious  aspirations.  In  such  cases  what  I have  a 
right  to  call  a moral  dyspepsia  results  as  certainly  and 
as  terribly  as  ever  physical  dyspepsia  followed  under 
one  of  the  other  exaggerations. 


II.  Bearing  in  mind,  all  along,  the  interdependence 
of  exercise  for  the  body  with  exercise  of  the  mind, 
and  determining  that  both  shall  be  swayed  by  the  im- 
perial soul,  let  us  ask  some  questions,  for  future  an- 
swer, perhaps  as  to  our  physical  and  our  mental  edu- 
cation. 

And  I will  say  next  to  nothing  about  those  athletic 
exercises  about  which  the  wise  fashion  of  to-day  is  en- 
thusiastic, because  I have  little  time,  — and  I am  glad 
to  think  that  young  men  at  Exeter  need  little  sugges- 
tion regarding  them.  In  speaking  of  bodily  train- 
ing, I will  begin  with  the  duty  of  sleep.  Sleep,  pro- 
found and  healthy,  is  the  first  of  the  physical  duties, 
— good  sleep  and  enough.  Whatever  hinders  it  must 
be  thrown  overboard.  Even  the  old  proverbs  must 
give  way,  if  need  be,  — the  requisite  in  young  life 
being  that  you  shall  rise  for  a day’s  duty  hopeful, 
cheerful,  and  strong,  with  none  of  yesterday’s  arrears 
to  carry.  Do  not  forget  the  gospel  direction,  that  you 
are  to  be  new-born  every  morning,  and  to  start  really 
with  the  freshness  of  a little  child.  If  your  fit  of 
special  exertion  yesterday,  — the  “ German  ” pro- 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES. 


i 


tracted  till  two  o’clock  in  the  morning,  the  puzzle  in 
the  counting-room  to  find  out  where  those  lost  two 
cents  had  gone  from  the  balance-sheet,  — if  such 
things  as  these  last  night  bring  you  to  this  morning 
with  a hot  head,  after  feverish  tossing  through  the 
small  hours,  you  are  simply  committing  suicide  by 
inches.  And  such  suicide  is  not  to  be  judged  by  dif- 
ferent canons  from  those  which  condemn  the  sudden 
blow. 

Sleep  comes  without  asking  and  without  thought, 
indeed,  when  we  are  loyally  obeying  the  great  laws, 
when  we  are  in  the  service  which  is  perfect  freedom. 
“ He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep  ” is  an  oracle  of  pro- 
found significance.1 

Now  I know  I traverse  the  habits,  and  I suppose 
the  opinions,  of  many  excellent  people,  when  I say 
that  exercise  in  the  open  air  every  day  of  life  is  also 
a necessity  for  young  people  who  are  well  and  who 
would  keep  well.  I know  what  the  excuses  are,  — of 
climate,  dress,  occupation,  and  all  that.  Let  them  go. 
The  truth  is  that  fresh  air  is  health,  and  the  loss  of  it 
is  disease.  Nor  is  that  American  habit  I ridicule,  of 
trying  to  do  all  your  work  at  once  and  in  the  bulk, 
ever  more  absurd  than  when  we  try  to  take  all  our 
fresh  air  on  Monday  by  an  excursion  down  the  harbor, 

1 I have  attempted  some  details  on  this  subject  elsewhere; 
and  I eagerly  refer  readers  who  need  to  Dr.  W.  A.  Hammond’s 
admirable  essay  on  Sleep.  I will  say  here  that  hard  mental 
work  in  the  last  three  or  four  hours  in  the  working-day  should 
be  avoided.  Far  better  to  study  between  five  and  seven  in  the 
morning  than  between  eight  and  ten  at  night.  Never  work  on 
mathematics  in  these  hours  (or  within  an  hour  after  any  meal). 
Do  not  write  your  absorbing  and  exciting  letters  then.  On  the 
other  hand,  a walk,  or  better,  perhaps,  a run,  just  before  bed- 
time, is  an  excellent  night-cap. 


8 


PHYSICAL,  MENTAL, 


and  so  to  buy  the  right  to  live  shut  up  in  prison  Tues- 
day, W ednesday,  and  Thursday,  over  our  dressmaking 
or  housekeeping,  our  accounts  or  other  business,  or 
our  study.  I am  to  speak,  by  and  by,  of  the  nearer 
communion  with  God  which  a man  enjoys  who  walks 
with  him,  as  Adam  did  in  the  garden,  in  the  cool  of 
the  day.  It  is  not  of  that  that  I speak  now,  but  of 
the  mere  physical  conditions  which  keep  the  physical 
machine  in  order.  For  a person  in  health,  the  preser- 
vation of  health  demands  daily  exercise  in  the  open 
air,  winter  or  summer,  country  or  city,  cold  or  hot,  wet 
or  dry. 

And,  though  I have  eschewed  detail,  let  me  ask  my 
young  friends  to  undertake  it.  It  is  worth  any  boy’s 
while,  or  any  girl’s,  for  instance,  to  see  what  care 
those  old  Greeks  thought  it  wise  to  give  to  such  mat- 
ters. Look,  for  instance,  into  such  books  as  Ana- 
charsis’s  Travels,  Landor’s  Pericles  and  Aspasia, 
Becker’s  Charicles,  Mahaffy’s  Athenian  Life,  or  the 
proper  articles  in  Smith’s  Dictionary,  to  see  how  it 
was  that  the  Greek  sculptors  had  at  hand  such  forms 
as  the  Apollo,  the  Genius  of  Life,  or  the  Venus  of 
Milo.  It  was  by  no  accident  that  Sophocles  lived 
strong  and  well  till  he  was  ninety-five,  or  that  the  little 
city  of  Athens,  when  it  was  not  as  big  as  Lawrence  or 
Worcester  is  to  day,  had  then  such  a cluster  of  well- 
trained  men,  with  bodies  well-nigh  perfect.  These 
men  were  trained  in  a school  which  sought  for  bodily 
health  by  system  and  regimen. 

If  I were  to  speak  of  details,  it  would  not  be  simply 
of  the  exercises  of  the  Greek  gymnasium.  I have  been 
asked  to  say  a special  word  as  to  the  value  of  sweep- 
ing a room  as  a physical  exercise  for  women  or  men, 
and  I ought  to  say  that  some  scientific  persons  give  it 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES. 


9 


the  first  place.  Dancing,  also,  deserves  the  place 
which  it  has  won  in  all  history  and  in  all  civilizations 
except  that  of  the  Puritans  ; and  there,  as  you  know, 
it  has  fought  its  way  through,  though  against  tremen- 
dous odds.  Of  course  you  would  not  advise  a boy  to 
dance  all  night,  more  than  you  would  advise  a girl  to 
sweep  all  day ; and  there  ought  to  be  as  little  danger 
of  one  excess  as  the  other.  If,  again,  while  I pass 
other  exercises  without  a word,  I select  the  exercise  of 
swimming,  it  is  because  this  community  is  just  now 
neglecting  it.  If  I had  my  way,  there  should  be  pub- 
lic and  universal  instruction  in  swimming,  for  girls  as 
well  as  boys.  In  the  event  of  accident,  a woman  ought 
to  be  as  well  able  as  a man  to  save  her  own  life  or  to 
rescue  others.  I do  not  think  it  is  creditable  to  Bos- 
ton that  other  cities  should  be  far  in  advance  of  us 
in  their  provisions  for  teaching  swimming.  And  it  is 
to  be  said  of  swimming  that  it  is  an  absolutely  perfect 
exercise. 

Thus  much  of  those  physical  exercises  which  are 
simply  personal;  which  Robinson  Crusoe  might  and 
must  have  followed  out  on  his  island,  though  he  were 
never  to  be  rescued.  There  is  another  series  which 
will  interest  you  young  people  more,  because  they  have 
to  do  with  your  relations  with  others ; although  you 
could  carry  them  out  on  a desert  island,  in  fact  you 
train  yourself  in  them  because  we  live  in  society  with 
others.  These  are  the  lines  of  what  we  call  66  accom- 
plishments,” not  speaking  very  precisely.  Here,  again, 
I do  not  attempt  much  detail,  but  I do  want  you  to 
consider  them  as  moral  beings  do.  I want  to  put 
them  on  the  plane  of  morals.  And  if  you  will  put 
them  there,  you  may  study  the  details  yourselves. 
Your  consciences,  quick  and  pure,  and  sustained  by 


10 


PHYSICAL , MENTAL , 


God  in  answer  to  your  prayer,  are  your  oracles,  much 
more  quick  and  reliable  for  you  than  any  judgments 
of  mine. 

With  regard  to  some  of  these  accomplishments,  the 
decision  is  already  practically  made.  For  instance,  it 
is  taken  for  granted  that  all  of  you  and  all  decent 
people  shall  know  how  to  write.  This  is  a pure  phys- 
ical exercise ; as  much  so  as  is  fencing  or  swimming. 
It  is  expected,  and  rightly  expected,  that  everybody 
shall  compass  that  accomplishment.  Now,  shall  we  go 
a step  further  ? Every  one  who  can  write  can  learn  to 
draw.  Shall  we  insist  that  they  all  do  ? or  shall  we 
say  that  only  persons  with  a distinct  artistic  genius 
shall  learn  ? or  shall  we  say  that  only  they  shall  learn, 
and,  beside  them,  certain  others  also  who  can  be  of 
use  in  teaching  drawing  ? 

I am  quite  clear  here  that  we  are  right  in  exacting 
the  rudiments  of  this  accomplishment  from  all.  I do 
not  believe  that  you  will  all  be  artists ; nor  is  there 
any  reason  why  you  should.  But  there  is  every  reason 
why  you  should  represent  correctly,  and  not  incorrectly, 
what  you  see  and  what  you  mean.  There  is  every 
reason  why,  if  you  give  a carpenter  directions  for 
repairing  your  house,  you  should  be  able  to  direct 
him,  and  not  misdirect  him.  When  the  general  calls 
upon  you  from  the  ranks  some  day,  sends  you  out  as 
a scout,  and  you  return  with  information,  you  ought 
to  be  able  to  plot  it  properly  on  paper.  When  you 
discover  a new  flower  or  a new  insect  in  the  wilder- 
ness, you  ought  to  be  able  to  represent  it  correctly  in 
the  interests  of  science  for  those  who  study.  Perhaps 
your  sense  of  color  is  dull ; perhaps  your  memory  of 
form  is  bad.  None  the  less  ought  you  to  be  able  to 
see,  and  to  put  on  paper  what  you  see.  And  the  truth 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES. 


11 


is  that  learning  to  draw  is  learning  to  see.  For  the 
rest,  let  those  who  love  their  drawing  keep  on  with  it 
and  go  further.  Let  the  others  pass  it  by  and  take 
up  other  exercises.  “ Those  who  love  it,”  — that  is  a 
better  statement  than  “ those  who  have  a genius  for 
it.”  If  they  love  it  enough  to  persevere,  their  genius, 
more  or  less,  will  take  care  of  itself.  And  this  defini- 
tion is  accurate  enough  for  any  young  scholar  to  apply 
it  in  his  own  training. 

The  next  question  is  infallibly  as  to  the  training  of 
the  voice,  still  a matter  of  physical  culture. 

Without  discussing  this  in  much  detail,  I will  say 
that  quite  aside  from  the  mere  pleasure  of  singing  is 
the  exercise  of  the  body  involved.  All  young  men 
must  learn  to  speak  in  public,  and  both  boys  and  girls 
want  to  read  aloud  and  to  read  well.  The  careful 
training  for  singing  is  probably  the  best  exercise  for 
the  public  speaker,  and  the  present  striking  deficiency 
of  the  home  circle,  its  difficulty  in  finding  good  read- 
ers, will  cease  when  it  has  those  who  have  opened  their 
chests,  learned  to  use  all  their  muscles,  and  given 
range  to  the  register  of  voice  by  exercise  in  singing. 

One  step  further.  We  will  try  all  the  children  in 
singing,  and  we  will  give  up  those  who  do  not  love  it 
or  those  who  cannot  learn.  Shall  we  try  them  all  with 
instruments  of  music  ? Shall  we  place  fifty  thousand 
piano-fortes  in  the  fifty  thousand  dwelling-houses  of 
Boston  ? Or,  failing  them,  shall  we  substitute  parlor 
organs,  harps  and  citherns,  violins  and  instruments  of 
ten  strings  ? Such  seems  to  be  the  present  disposition, 
encouraged,  as  I have  sometimes  supposed,  by  the 
manufacturing  disposition  of  the  New  Englander,  and 
our  skill  in  making  musical  instruments  of  the  first 
quality. 


12 


PHYSICAL , MENTAL , 


But,  as  you  see,  the  plan  travels  beyond  the  disci- 
pline of  the  man ; it  requires  that  he  shall  also  possess 
an  instrument,  and  a complex  instrument.  And  it  is 
probably  at  this  line  that  we  are  to  stop.  If  he  love 
music,  let  him  learn  to  play ; if  he  love  it  enough,  let 
him  be  Joseph  Haydn,  or  Mendelssohn,  or  Rubinstein. 
But  if  he  do  not  love  it,  let  him  choose  for  his  voca- 
tion, or  for  his  avocation,  something  which  he  is  made 
for.  There  may  be  instances,  where,  with  all  his  love, 
he  will  be  slow  at  learning.  That  is  no  matter : he 
has  eternity  before  him.  There  may  be  cases  where, 
with  all  his  love,  he  will  never  work  out  the  great 
achievements,  so  called.  No  matter  for  that.  The 
peasant  who  first  hummed  the  air  of  Auld  Lang  Syne 
has  given  as  much  pleasure  in  his  day  as  any  monarch 
of  music  with  the  grandest  symphony.  Nay,  some 
blundering  choir  to-day,  as  it  stumbles  through  Lyons 
or  Coronation,  if  it  sing  with  the  spirit,  comes  nearer 
the  Throne  of  Grace  than  the  Sistine  company,  if  it 
be  singing  only  with  the  understanding.  The  object 
with  which  you  learn  is  not  success  merely,  it  is  not 
fame  merely,  but  it  is  best  measured  by  your  love  of 
what  you  learn.  And  the  question  you  have  to  ask  is 
this  : “ Shall  I to-morrow  render  service  more  accept- 
able than  I rendered  yesterday  ? ” 

The  requisite  is  health,  and  health  means  balance 
of  body,  mind,  and  soul.  To  Jesus  Christ  himself,  in 
the  midst  of  that  cheerful,  open-air  life  of  his  in  Gali- 
lee, so  glad  that  it  has  been  called  a constant  festival, 
poor  John  the  Baptist  sent  messengers  from  his  under- 
ground prison,  just  as  we  look  out  from  our  dim  man- 
made prisons  upon  the  glories  of  the  world  of  God. 
John  asked  him  what  he  was  doing;  and  had  he  for- 
gotten all  their  plans  ? The  answers  of  J esus  are  quite 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES. 


13 


as  much  of  bodily  health  as  of  mental ; quite  as  much 
of  mental  health  as  of  the  aspirations  of  the  soul,  — 
quite  as  much,  but  no  more,  for  of  these  he  speaks 
quite  as  eagerly  as  of  those.  But  he  cannot  separate 
the  one  from  the  other.  He  is  engaged  in  care  for  all 
three.  “ In  that  same  hour,”  says  Luke,  in  his  pic- 
turesque way,  “ he  cured  many  of  their  infirmities  and 
plagues,  and  of  evil  spirits ; ” body  and  mind  alike 
were  comforted  ; and  the  message  he  sent  to  John  was 
of  such  comfort  as  this,  of  such  health  as  this,  with 
the  other  message  that  the  glad  tidings  of  God  were 
taught  at  the  same  moment,  and  with  the  lesson  to 
John,  “ Blessed  is  he  that  shall  not  be  offended  in 
me.”  What  lesson  and  suggestion  for  us,  in  what  we 
are  pleased  to  call  our  “ spiritual  experiences  ” ! How 
far  is  my  hardness  of  heart,  or  the  melancholy  with 
which  I look  back  on  my  wicked  life,  — how  far  is  it 
a spiritual  experience  ? How  much  of  it  is  due  to  dis- 
ordered digestion  ? Or  where  do  the  freaks  of  a way- 
ward mind,  say  of  a wild  imagination  or  of  ill-ordered 
logic,  come  in  ? Or,  if  I set  myself  to  minister  to  the 
poor,  as  he  did,  how  certain  it  is  that  I must  prepare 
myself,  not  simply  with  the  Bible  which  I carry  to 
read  to  the  sick,  but  with  the  good  sense  which  shall 
answer  the  cross-questioning  of  the  dissatisfied,  and 
also  with  the  gospel  of  cleanliness  and  the  open  air 
with  which  I am  to  dispel  head-ache  and  heart-ache 
together!  The  whole  lesson  of  Jesus  Christ  is  thus  for 
balance,  — for  that  health  which  is  the  balance  of 
training  with  training,  and  faculty  upon  faculty.  And 
when  we  ask  these  young  friends  of  ours  to  make  him 
the  leader  of  their  lives,  this  is  what  we  mean,  — that 
in  all  such  directions  as  we  have  been  tracing  he  shall 
be  master.  He  knew  how  to  live,  knew  how  to  extort 


14 


PHYSICAL,  MENTAL , 


the  most  from  life,  to  make  it  abundant,  to  make  it 
glad,  and  to  make  it  useful.  And  you,  when  you  try 
to  give  to  these  physical  exercises  some  sense,  some 
moderation,  some  purpose  and  meaning,  whether  it  be 
in  a running-match  or  whether  it  be  in  practising  the 
scale,  you  are  not  on  the  right  track  unless  the  unity 
of  all  life  appears  to  you  as  he  showed  it.  You  are 
not  training  your  voice,  or  your  hand,  or  your  foot,  or 
your  eye  for  your  own  behoof  alone  : it  is  that  you 
may  bear  your  brother’s  burden  the  better.  Who  does 
this  fulfils  Christ’s  whole  law.  And  because  he  ful- 
fils it,  he  does  more  than  appears  to  the  eye.  While 
he  trains  the  body,  he  trains  mind  and  soul.  The 
obedience  which  compels  these  fingers  to  that  distaste- 
ful task,  as  they  pass  up  and  down  the  keys,  is  the 
same  quality  of  life  with  which  Gabriel  bears  God’s 
message  from  one  end  of  heaven  to  the  other.  The 
steadiness  which  holds  to  its  purpose  till  the  last  mo- 
ment of  the  foot-race  is  the  endurance  which  endures 
to  the  end,  of  which  endurance  safety,  or  salvation,  is 
the  reward. 


III.  In  speaking  now  very  briefly  of  the  mental  dis- 
cipline which  must  come  in  as  a part  of  every  day  of 
life,  I do  not  forget  for  a moment  that  the  cant  about 
“ culture  ” has  made  that  dreadful  word  ridiculous 
throughout  all  New  England,  and  among  all  people 
who  laugh  at  New  Englanders.  If  anybody  ought  to 
know  the  absurdity  of  such  cant,  it  is  we  who  have 
lived  in  the  midst  of  it.  I think  we  are  in  no  danger. 

We  are  not  proposing,  by  any  course  of  primary- 
school  or  secondary-school  education,  to  introduce  the 
kingdom  of  God  through  the  spelliilg-book.  In  such 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES. 


15 


follies  this  community  tried  its  experiments  forty  years 
ago.  We  are  hoping  to  serve  God,  and  to  serve  him 
well.  We  are  seeking  his  kingdom,  and  would  gladly 
make  the  entrance  to  it  easier  for  those  who  seek  to 
enter.  Seeking  this,  we  would  get  the  best  use  we 
can  of  our  tools,  — tools  which  he  has  given  us.  Nor 
can  a better  illustration  be  found  for  the  training  we 
give  the  mind  — which  is  one  of  those  tools  — than  we 
have  had  already  in  the  training  we  should  like  to  give 
to  the  body,  which  is  the  other. 

1.  I am  to  speak  first  in  the  way  of  caution.  This 
caution  is  to  be  borne  in  mind,  that  mere  reading  is 
not,  in  itself,  mental  training.  There  is,  in  this  direc- 
tion, a popular  superstition.  But,  in  truth,  the  read- 
ing of  a low-lived  novel  is  as  bad  training  as  intimacy 
with  a low-lived  man.  That  every  one  sees.  We  may 
go  much  farther.  To  read  gossiping  novels  all  day  long 
is  no  more  mental  training  than  to  talk  with  gossiping 
fools  all  day  long.  It  is  necessary  to  give  this  caution 
in  advance,  because  we  have  but  little  time  in  any  day, 
in  this  plan  of  life  which  we  are  following,  and  we 
must  be  careful  that  that  time  really  goes  for  what  we 
pretend.  We  will  not  deceive  ourselves.  We  will  not 
talk  as  if  reading  the  newspapers,  or  reading  maga- 
zines, or  reading  novels,  did  us  any  great  good,  or  were 
a part  of  our  training.  I hope  they  will  do  us  no 
harm  ; nor  need  they.  But  when  we  speak  of  giving 
an  hour  a day  to  mental  improvement,  we  do  not  speak 
of  this  galloping  over  pages  of  novels,  or  columns  of 
newspapers,  merely  for  the  entertainment  of  the  hour. 

2.  If  you  can  arrange  among  yourselves  to  work 
together,  a great  point  is  gained.  Then  the  God-given 
stimulus  comes  in,  in  the  stimulus  of  society.  These 
little  clubs  to  read  French,  to  study  history,  to  try 


16 


PHYSICAL , MENTAL , 


experiments  in  chemistry,  to  botanize  together,  or  to 
follow  whatever  study,  are  the  best  possible  helps  or 
methods.  I never  tire  of  describing  the  system  which 
they  have  arrived  at  at  the  English  Cambridge,  after 
near  one  thousand  years  of  experiment,  as  the  best  pos- 
sible way  of  study.  The  young  men  who  are  studying 
for  honors  make  such  appointment  with  their  tutors 
that  each  one  has  every  day  an  hour  with  his  tutor 
alone.  If  need  be,  they  study  the  lesson  together. 
The  teacher  not  only  teaches  the  lesson,  but  he  shows 
the  others  how  to  learn  the  lesson.  Then  each  scholar 
works  upon  the  tasks  assigned,  for  two  or  three  hours. 
And  the  work  of  each  day  ends  when  all  of  these 
teachers  and  pupils,  at  the  most  not  more  than  four, 
meet  for  at  least  an  hour,  and  all  together  work  with 
mutual  help.  That  is  the  best  system  which  the  ex- 
perience of  so  many  centuries  has  devised  for  the  best 
training  for  the  best  men  in  it. 

Now,  there  is  no  necessity  of  going  to  a university 
for  what  is  the  most  valuable  part  of  this  training. 
Its  value  comes  from  their  all  working  together.  Any 
three  or  four  friends  who  can  meet  daily,  or  not  so 
often,  to  read  together,  can  command  it.  Life  quick- 
ens life.  There  is  one  funny  person,  one  imaginative 
person,  one  with  a strong  memory,  one  who  is  steady- 
going and  holds  the  others  to  their  tasks.  The  work 
is  of  better  quality,  it  is  better  remembered  ; and  a 
real  training  of  the  mind  is  involved.  It  is  a great 
thing  to  learn  to  tell  what  you  know.  It  is  a much 
greater  thing  to  learn  to  confess  ignorance.  It  is 
greater  yet  to  learn  how  to  live  with  others,  — how  to 
repress  your  own  arrogance,  how  to  endure  other  peo- 
ple’s ; or,  in  general,  how  to  make  allowance  for  the 
finite  or  fallible  elements  in  other  lives,  and  how  to 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES. 


17 


make  out  and  make  the  best  of  the  infinite  elements, 
which  are  invaluable.  All  this  mental  practice  is  bet- 
ter gained  in  a literary  club,  or  a circle  to  read  French, 
than  in  the  City  Council  or  in  Congress  ; and  that  is 
true,  — which  is  always  true,  — that  he  who  succeeds 
in  these  lesser  things  carries  in  his  success  the  power 
to  rule  cities,  as  the  parable  puts  it.  The  experience 
of  the  little  gives  the  victory  on  the  larger  scale. 

3.  And  what  are  you  to  study  or  to  read  ? On  what 
bone  are  you  to  gnaw  in  this  discipline  ? The  choice 
is  your  own.  That  is  the  first  thing  to  say.  At  school 
you  are  to  do  what  they  tell  you  to  do.  Afterwards 
you  are  to  do  what  you  think  you  need  most  and  can 
do  best.  These  two  directions  go  together.  You  are 
not  always,  as  a matter  of  course,  to  study  the  thing 
which  you  know  least.  Perhaps,  with  all  the  study  in 
the  world,  you  would  not  compass  it.  By  the  time 
you  leave  school  you  ought  to  know.  Study  what 
you  need  most  and  can  do  best.  There  is  wide  range 
for  choice  ; but  now  it  is  range  where  your  likings 
and  your  genius  both  have  play. 

Mr.  Emerson,  who  is  one  of  the  wisest  teachers  here, 
says  in  one  place,  when  he  is  directing  us  how  to  buy 
books,  that  we  are  to  buy  books  “ in  the  line  of  our 
genius.”  But,  for  boy  or  girl  of  seventeen  years  of 
age,  the  trouble  generally  is  that  one  does  not  yet  know 
what  the  line  of  his  genius  is.  Nor  is  it  any  blame  to 
man  or  woman,  if  either  of  them  cannot,  till  death,  de- 
cide a question  so  delicate.  Mr.  Emerson  said  again, 
when  consulted  as  to  a course  of  study : “ It  does  not 
matter  so  much  what  you  study  as  with  whom  you 
study.”  Something  you  are  interested  in,  something 
you  like,  and  something  you  need.  When  one  has 
rightly  learned  his  own  ignorance,  — and  that  is  what 
2 


18 


PHYSICAL , MENTAL, , 


we  go  to  school  for,  — he  ought  to  be  able  to  choose. 
If  you  have  found  out  at  seventeen  that  you  cannot  well 
follow  the  mathematics,  leave  them  for  those  who  can. 
If,  after  fair  trial,  you  make  nothing  of  metaphysics, 
let  them  go  to  those  who  can.  If  it  prove  that  you  de- 
light in  the  high-ways  and  by-ways  of  history,  — if  old 
times  begin  to  grow  real  to  you,  and  these  dead  skele- 
tons of  names  to  take  flesh  and  color,  — study  history. 
If  you  follow  Stanley,  or  Kane,  or  these  new  travellers 
in  Australia,  step  by  step,  with  eager  curiosity,  study 
geography.  If  you  have  won  a triumph  at  the  debat- 
ing club,  because  you  have  untangled  some  knot  of 
finance  or  of  tariff,  and  if  the  researches  of  the  econ- 
omist attract  you,  study  real  politics,  — the  economies 
of  wealth.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  decide  the  sub- 
ject better  than  any  one  can  choose  for  you. 

4.  When  you  have  decided,  hold  to  your  decision. 
I had  a young  friend  who  used  to  come  to  me  once  a 
week,  one  winter,  to  borrow  books  and  consult  about 
his  reading.  At  first,  I was  delighted  with  the  breadth 
of  his  views  and  the  courage  of  his  study.  But  when 
I found  that  in  twenty  weeks  he  had  attacked  as 
many  of  the  fundamental  subjects,  and  abandoned 
them,  I became  uneasy.  His  enthusiasm  turned  in  two 
months  from  organic  chemistry  to  Homan  jurispru- 
dence, from  that  to  organized  philanthropy  in  modern 
life,  from  that  to  Darwinism  and  the  law  of  selection, 
from  that  to  the  English  Constitution,  from  that  to 
Augustinianism  and  the  theology  of  the  fall  of  man, 
and  so  on.  What  made  this  alarming  was  that  on 
each  subject  he  was  sure,  on  successive  Saturdays,  that 
it  was  the  only  subject  for  a man  of  conscience  to  en- 
gage in  in  our  times,  and  he  generally  borrowed  as 
many  books  as  he  could  carry  for  its  study. 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES . 


19 


“ Unstable  as  water,  thou  shalt  not  excel.”  That  is 
the  old  Hebrew  warning  againt  such  foolery.  Choose 
your  line  of  study,  and  hold  on  ; let  book  lead  to  book, 
subject  open  from  subject.  Never  fear  but  the  range 
will  be  wide  enough  before  you  have  done.  I sin- 
cerely believe  that,  with  the  resources  of  our  great 
public  libraries,  any  man  or  woman  of  spirit  who  chose 
to  take  up  a subject  of  detail,  which  had  not  been 
already  wrought  out  by  a specialist,  might,  in  a month’s 
time,  be  in  advance  of  any  person  in  the  community 
on  that  line  of  research.  I could  safely,  I believe, 
make  the  statement  for  a shorter  period.  You  do  have 
the  encouragement  of  feeling  that  what  you  work  upon 
may  soon  be  of  use  to  others  also.  It  is  not  mere 
“ culture.”  It  is  work  of  real  service  to  God  and  to 
man.  But  this  implies  continued  service  ; that  you 
shall  not  fling  away  week  after  week  of  life,  like  the 
weather-cock  fool  I have  been  describing.  Advance 
from  step  to  step.  Make  your  base  here  for  a move- 
ment there  ; establish  another  base  for  a farther  move- 
ment ; and  never  be  satisfied  to  regard  the  work  you 
are  doing  as  anything  less  than  a part  of  your  contri- 
bution eventually  to  the  improvement  of  the  world. 

5.  If  you  so  regard  it,  this  regular  exercise  will  not 
be  set  aside  on  whatever  excuse  or  fancy.  You  and 
your  companions  will  hold  to  it  day  by  day  as  indeed 
a duty,  not  a bit  of  relaxation  or  entertainment  merely. 
You  will  come  to  regard  it  as  something  which  must 
be,  not  to  be  set  aside  for  light  cause,  — more  than 
your  dinner,  your  breakfast,  or  your  sleep.  No  harm 
if  in  time  you  make  other  people  regard  it  as  a neces- 
sity. In  all  new  countries  everything  is  exceptional 
and  nothing  regular.  I cannot  have  my  meals  as 
punctually  when  I have  to  shoot  the  rabbit  or  the  deer, 


20 


PHYSICAL , MENTAL, 


and  skin  him  and  cook  him  for  myself,  as  I can  have 
them  when  they  are  served  at  a hotel.  But  the  word 
“ civilization  ” means  escape  from  such  disorder  and 
irregularity.  High  civilization  means  that  the  ball 
falls  and  the  bell  strikes  precisely  at  twelve  ; that  the 
train  for  New  York  leaves  precisely  at  ten  or  at  eight ; 
that  the  schools  open  precisely  at  nine.  It  means  as 
well  that  when  you  have  seriously  agreed  with  a circle 
of  your  friends  to  meet  regularly  at  a certain  time  for 
the  reading  of  history,  you  will  do  so.  That  is  one  of 
the  things  where  you  will  be  master.  You  are  not 
claiming,  as  we  have  seen,  to  be  master  for  four  and 
twenty  hours.  For  a great  part  of  the  four  and  twenty 
hours  you  have  even  agreed  to  be  obedient  to  the 
wishes  of  others.  But  for  these  two  or  three  hours 
you  are  to  be  master.  Neither  your  indolence,  nor 
your  modesty,  nor  your  good  nature,  is  to  surrender 
this  claim.  Nor  are  you*  claiming  this  for  yourself. 
As  God’s  child,  you  are  trying  to  serve  him,  and  the 
claim  you  make  is  on  his  behalf  : it  is  not  yours. 
Having  determined,  perhaps  with  others,  to  follow  this 
course  of  training,  whatever  it  may  be,  let  that  deter- 
mination be  final  and  absolute. 

6.  And  now  I come  to  a direction  vastly  more  im- 
portant than  any  or  all  of  these  matters  of  detail.  The 
mind  is  beneath  your  own  control,  if  you  will  choose 
to  assert  that  control  early.  It  shall  not  think  of  mean 
things  or  bad  things,  unless  you  permit  it.  Not  at 
once,  indeed,  but  yet  by  slow  training,  that  control  is 
possible.  Yes,  and  the  first  direction  is  this,  of  the 
sensible  though  enthusiastic  Paul,  that  a man  shall 
not  think  of  himself ; and  he  adds,  with  a certain 
humor  which  never  long  leaves  him,  indeed,  “ more 
highly  than  he  ought  to  think,”  — a condition  which,  to 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES.  21 

most  of  us,  leaves  the  range  of  thinking  which  is  per- 
mitted on  a plane  sufficiently  if  not  ludicrously  low. 

In  another  statement  of  St.  Paul’s,  which  we  cannot 
consider  too  often,  he  says  of  the  Saviour  himself  : 
44  He  made  himself  of  no  reputation,.”  The  two  phrases 
together  are  the  sternest  rebuke  of  this  self-conscious 
thought  of  one’s  self  which  uses  man’s  noblest  power 
for  what  is  man’s  meanest  business.  Warning  enough, 
or  rebuke  enough,  if  warning  and  rebuke  would  save 
us  ! And  when  these  do  not  save  a man,  — when  he 
yields  to  the  temptation  and  uses  his  reason  only  about 
himself,  uses  his  memory  to  remember  his  own  affairs 
only,  uses  his  imagination  only  to  build  his  own  air- 
castles,  his  skill  in  the  mathematics  only  to  compute 
his  own  fortune, — then  the  punishment  in  store  for  him 
is  the  punishment  most  terrible.  For  the  time  is  be- 
fore him  when  he  shall  not  be  able  to  turn  his  thought 
away  from  the  central  figure.  He  shall  go  to  the  the- 
atre to  see  the  marvels  of  the  drama ; but  the  scene 
shall  pass  before  his  eyes,  he  noticing  nothing,  because 
he  sees  nothing  but  himself  ; he  sits  acting  over  some 
mortifying  failure.  Or,  he  shall  buy  the  last  romance 
and  take  it  home  and  read  ; but  there  is  no  story  for 
him,  — no  lover  and  no  mistress,  no  plot  and  no  de- 
nouement. He  cannot  separate  himself  from  these 
steadily  recurring  memories,  to  which  he  has  taught 
the  fibres  of  his  brain  to  recur.  Or,  he  shall  travel ; 
but,  alas ! he  takes  his  familiar  with  him,  and  with 
mockery,  like  that  of  Mephistopheles,  in  every  Alpine 
valley,  in  every  picture-gallery,  and  at  every  pageant, 
here  the  old  chatter  begins  again  about  44  me  ” and 
44  mine  ” and  44 1 ” and  44  myself,”  which  it  would  be 
such  mercy  to  leave  at  home.  Poor  wretch,  he  cannot 
leave  it  at  home  ! He  thought  when  he  was  a boy 


22 


PHYSICAL , MENTAL , 


that  these  simple  words,  “ He  made  himself  of  no  rep- 
utation,” had  no  meaning  for  him.  He  would  make 
himself  a name  to  be  trumpeted.  He  thought,  when 
he  read  in  St.  Paul  that  no  man  was  to  think  of  him- 
self, that  this  was  an  Oriental  exaggeration,  or  it  was 
for  eighteen  centuries  ago ; or,  briefly,  that  he  knew 
better  than  St.  Paul.  He  thought  so ; but  he  learned 
that  the  punishment  for  that  conceitedness  is  to  be 
cursed  with  one’s  own  company,  one’s  own  thoughts, 
one’s  own  memories. 

Of  which  disease  the  remedy  also  is  offered  by  the 
same  physician  : “ Let  a man  think  soberly,”  he  says ; 
and  in  another  place,  “ Whatsoever  things  are  pure, 
whatsoever  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  hon- 
est, whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things 
are  of  good  report,  if  there  be  any  virtue  or  if  there  be 
any  praise,  think  on  these  things.”  Now  this  instruc- 
tion is  practical ; not  meant  for  rhetoric  or  poetry,  but 
as  a direction  for  an  intelligent  man  to  pursue  in  the 
conduct  of  life.  You  can  keep  impure  thoughts  out 
of  your  mind  by  thinking  of  that  which  is  pure.  You 
can  keep  yourself  out  of  your  mind  by  thinking  of 
other  people.  And,  to  train  the  mind  in  generous  and 
large  thought,  so  that  it  may  not  fall  back  to  mean 
thought  and  small,  is  the  most  important  duty  you 
have  in  this  part  of  life,  which  has  to  do  with  making 
ready  your  weapons. 


And  these  illustrations  must  be  all  that  I must  at- 
tempt. They  will  be  enough  to  show  how  you  ought 
to  consider  every  question  of  detail.  The  accomplish- 
ments of  the  Greek  sophists  were  wasted,  as  the  de- 
portment of  every  Turvey drop  is  absurd,  because  neither 


AND  SPIRITUAL  EXERCISES. 


23 


of  them  made  the  man  more  manly  or  the  woman  more 
womanly.  And  all  education  is  worthless  unless  it 
secures  this  end.  It  must  secure  strength  of  will.  It 
must  double  force.  It  must  build  up  character.  Have 
you  heard  it  said,  perhaps,  that  in  the  later  school  of 
English  novels  the  element  of  religious  culture  has 
dropped  out,  — that  in  most  of  these  novels  the  hero 
or  the  heroine  almost  never  speaks  of  God,  or  heaven, 
or  Saviour,  or  Bible  ? This  may  or  may  not  be  true 
as  a superficial  criticism  of  the  outside  of  these  books. 
But  what  is  far  more  important  in  the  best  of  them  is 
that  they  insist  so  steadily  as  they  do  upon  character, 
— upon  the  living  force  of  the  living  man.  Your  hero 
stands  consistent  and  persistent,  and  will  not  give  way. 
You  may  make  a beggar  of  him,  and  he  will  not  quail. 
You  may  outvote  him,  but  he  defies  you.  He  is 
stronger  than  parties,  he  is  stronger  than  fashion,  he 
is  stronger  than  numbers,  he  is  stronger  than  money. 
This  means  simply  that  he  is  a true  man,  and  that 
man  is  omnipotent,  when  he  chooses  the  right  ally. 
It  means  that  nothing  prevails  against  character. 

Now  the  creation  of  such  character  is  the  object  or 
the  result  of  all  true  education,  of  all  bodily  training, 
of  all  mental  discipline,  and  of  all  spiritual  exercises. 
To  say  all  in  one  word,  offer  yourselves  wholly,  body, 
soul,  and  spirit,  to  your  God.  Does  this  seem  an  ec- 
clesiastical phrase  ? It  means  simply  this  : — 

Do  not  separate  your  religion  from  the  rest  of  life, 
but  soak  your  life  in  your  religion,  and  your  religion  in 
your  life,  for  you  ought  not  to  be  able  to  separate  the 
two.  You  are  not  God’s  child  on  Sunday,  and  a child 
of  the  world  on  Monday.  You  are  God’s  child  all  the 
time.  It  is  not  God’s  law  that  you  obey  when  you  eat 
the  bread  of  communion,  and  the  world’s  law  when 


24 


PHYSICAL  EXERCISES , £r<7. 


you  compute  interest  in  the  counting-room ; it  is  all 
God’s  law,  and  you  can  make  the  one  duty  as  sacred 
as  the  other.  You  can  row  your  boat,  when  you  are 
pulling  in  a match,  loyally,  bravely,  truly,  as  a pure, 
unselfish  boy  rows  it,  and  so  as  to  please  God  who 
gives  you  strength  for  that  endeavor.  You  can  sit  at 
the  piano,  and  practise  your  scales,  humbly,  patiently, 
and  with  the  same  determination  with  which  an  arch- 
angel goes  about  his  duties.  You  can  do  that  to  God’s 
glory.  And  God  is  pleased  when  you  make  that  en- 
deavor. You  can  take  your  baby-brother  to  ride ; you 
can  lift  his  carriage  upon  the  curb-stone  gently  when 
there  is  a street  to  cross  ; you  can  meet  the  perplex- 
ities and  irritations  of  that  care  as  Uriel  stood  be- 
fore the  sun,  to  keep  watch  and  ward.  The  charge 
may  be  as  true,  as  pure,  and  as  grand.  It  may  be  a 
part  of  your  sacrifice  and  of  your  religion. 

For  you  and  me  the  effort  is  to  be,  not  simply  to 
stand  at  the  altar,  or  to  watch  the  wreaths  of  incense* 
or  simply  to  repeat  the  words  of  the  service,  though 
this  in  its  place  may  please  us  and  help  us ; but  to 
make  the  world  a temple  as  we  make  life  a joy,  by 
living,  moving,  and  being  in  God,  with  God,  and  for 
God.  That  common  care  may  be  glorified,  that  daily 
duty  may  be  made  divine,  to  you,  — this  is  the  begin- 
ning, middle,  and  end. 


HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE  IN  THE 
TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL. 


We  are  all  familiar  with  habit.  We  feel  it  work- 
ing within  ourselves,  and  we  see  it  operating  in  others. 
It  has  been  shown  that  it  derives  its  power  mainly 
from  the  laws  of  the  association  of  ideas.  Certain 
mental  states,  certain  thoughts  and  feelings,  have  fol- 
lowed each  in  a certain  order  once,  twice,  ten  times, 
or  a hundred  times,  and  now  on  any  one  of  these  com- 
ing up  the  others  will  be  disposed  to  follow  : quite  as 
naturally  as  the  stone  falls  to  the  ground,  or  as  water 
bursting  from  its  fountain  will  flow  in  the  channel 
formed  for  it.  When  the  habits  are  bodily  ones  they 
are  confirmed  by  the  law,  that  when  any  organ  of  our 
frame  is  exercised  there  is  a greater  flow  of  blood  and 
vital  energy  towards  it,  and  it  is  made  stronger  and 
more  active.  These  two  laws  of  our  compound  nature 

— the  one  mental  and  the  other  corporeal  — gener- 
ate habit,  which  is  characterized  by  two  marked  fea- 
tures : — 

(1.)  There  is  a tendency  to  repeat  the  acts  which 
have  often  been  done.  You  wonder  at  the  drunkard 
become  so  infatuated ; but  the  grieving,  the  downcast 
mother,  or  the  disheartened  wife,  can  tell  you  of  a time 

— and  a sigh  heaves  her  bosom  as  she  speaks  of  it  — 


26 


HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 


when  the  now  outcast  and  degraded  one  was  loved 
and  respected,  and  returned  with  regularity  to  quiet 
and  domestic  peace  in  the  bosom  of  the  family.  But, 
alas  ! he  would  not  believe  the  warnings  of  a parent ; 
he  did  not  attend  to  the  meek  unobtrusive  recommen- 
dations of  a wife  or  sister ; he  despised  the  commands 
of  the  living  God  ; and,  seeking  for  happiness  where 
it  has  never  been  found,  he  spurned  at  those  who  told 
him  that  the  habit  was  fixing  its  roots,  till  now  he 
has  become  the  scorn  and  jest  of  the  thoughtless,  and 
the  object  of  pity  to  the  wise  and  good  ; talking  of 
his  kindness  of  heart  while  his  friends  and  family 
are  pining  in  poverty ; boasting  to  his  companions, 
in  the  midst  of  his  brutal  mirth,  of  his  strength  of 
mind,  and  yet  unable  to  resist  the  least  temptation. 
What  we  see  in  so  marked  a manner  in  drunkenness 
has  equal  place,  though  it  may  not  be  so  striking,  in 
the  formation  of  every  other  habit ; as  of  indolence, 
which  shrinks  from  every  exertion  ; and  of  avarice 
and  worldly-mindedness,  which  keep  us  ever  toiling 
among  the  clay  of  this  earth  ; and  licentiousness,  which 
wades  through  filth  till  it  sinks  hopelessly  into  the  mire 
of  pollution.  The  young  man  is  driven  on  as  by  a 
terrible  wind  behind  moving  to  fill  up  a vacuum,  as  by 
a tide  with  its  wave  upon  wave  pursuing  each  other, 
under  an  attracting  power  which  will  not  let  go  its 
grasp.  In  all  cases  we  see  how  difficult  it  is  for  those 
who  have  been  accustomed  to  do  evil  to  learn  to  do 
well ; at  times  almost  as  impossible  as  for  a man  who 
has  thrown  himself  from  a pinnacle  to  rise  up  when 
he  is  half-way  down,  or  for  a man  who  has  committed 
himself  to  the  stream  above  Niagara  to  stop  when  he 
is  at  the  very  brink. 

And  let  no  man  try  to  excuse  his  criminality  on  the 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL. 


27 


ground  that  the  acts  are  now  beyond  his  will.  He 
should  resist  the  wave  till  it  has  expended  itself ; he 
should  seek  a more  favorable  wind  to  drive  him  along. 
He  is  even  now  to  blame  for  not  resisting  the  evil  and 
not  seeking  divine  aid  to  help  him  out  of  the  pit ; and 
he  is  chiefly  and  above  all  to  blame  for  the  habit 
which  is  his  formation  throughout.  For  it  was  by  re- 
peated acts  that  the  man  wore  the  ruts  and  deepened 
the  ruts  out  of  which  it  is  now  so  difficult  to  move 
him.  It  was  the  glass  of  rum  or  brandy  from  day 
to  day,  the  intoxicating  drinks  from  week  to  week,  at 
the  dinner  or  evening  party : it  was  this  that  formed 
the  addictedness  to  intemperance.  In  these  processes 
there  was  criminality  at  every  step  ; and  all  that  en- 
sues — this  slavery  and  these  chains  — is  a judicial  in- 
fliction for  the  evil  that  has  been  done  : the  punish- 
ment here,  as  in  hell,  adding  to  the  greatness  and  viru- 
lence of  the  wickedness.  In  most  cases,  indeed,  the 
man  did  not  see  the  consequences,  but  it  is  because  he 
shut  his  eyes  to  them.  He  would  do  the  deed  only 
this  one  time,  and  then  he  would  stop.  But  the  temp- 
tation which  swayed  him  the  first  time  anew  presents 
itself  and  is  once  more  yielded  to.  Having  crossed  the 
line  which  separates  vice  from  virtue,  he  thinks  that 
a few  more  transgressions  may  not  much  aggravate  the 
offence  ; he  therefore  goes  a little  farther,  still  cher- 
ishing the  idea  that  he  may  return  at  any  time.  At 
length  some  rash  deed  of  excess,  or  unexpected  ex- 
posure, shows  him  that  it  is  time  to  draw  back  ; and 
then  it  is  that  he  feels  how  difficult  the  retreat.  It 
was  easy  to  slide  into  the  net ; but  what  obstacles  catch 
him  as  he  would  draw  back  ! His  past  motion  has 
created  a momentum  which  impels  him  farther  and 
ever  on  towards  the  gulf.  “ Be  not  deceived,  God  is 


28  HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 

not  mocked ; for  whatsoever  a man  soweth  that  shall 
he  also  reap.”  He  has  sown  to  the  flesh,  and  of  the 
flesh  he  now  reaps  corruption.  He  has  sown  to  the 
wind,  and  the  whirlwind  rises  to  toss  him  along  as  by 
an  irresistible  power.  He  has  set  the  stone  a-rolling, 
and  he  has  to  answer  for  the  injury  it  may  do  as  it 
descends.  He  has  loosed  the  wagon  and  let  it  go  down 
the  inclined  plane,  and  he  is  responsible  for  all  the 
havoc  it  may  work  as  it  dashes  on  with  ever  acceler- 
ated speed.  There  are  affecting  cases  in  which  the 
man  is  conscious  of  his  misery  as  he  sinks,  like  those 
travellers  who  are  lost  in  the  Alps  down  the  snowy 
descent  into  the  awful  gulf.  Take  the  following  con- 
fession of  a man  of  genius,  a poet,  and  a philosopher, 
at  the  time  when  he  had  become  the  slave  of  opium, 
taken  in  the  first  instance  to  relieve  a bodily  disease : 
“ Conceive,”  says  Coleridge,  “ a poor  miserable  wretch, 
who  for  many  years  had  been  attempting  to  beat  off 
pain  by  a constant  recurrence  to  the  vice  which  repro- 
duces it.  Conceive  a spirit  in  hell  tracing  out  for 
others  the  road  to  that  heaven  from  which  his  vices 
exclude  him.  In  short,  conceive  whatever  is  most 
wretched,  helpless,  and  hopeless,  and  you  will  form  as 
tolerable  a notion  of  my  state  as  it  is  possible  for  a 
good  man  to  have.  I used  to  think  the  text  in  James, 
that  he  who  offended  in  one  point  offends  in  all,  very 
harsh ; but  now  I feel  the  tremendous,  the  awful  truth 
of  it.  For  the  one  sin  of  opium  what  crimes  have  I 
not  made  myself  guilty  of  ! Ingratitude  to  my  Maker 
and  to  my  benefactors,  and  unnatural  cruelty  to  my 
poor  children  ; nay,  too  often,  actual  falsehood.  After 
my  death  I earnestly  entreat,  that  a full  and  unquali- 
fied narration  of  my  wretchedness  and  its  guilty  cause 
may  be  made  public,  that,  at  least,  some  little  good 
may  be  effected  by  the  direful  example.” 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL. 


29 


(2.)  Habit  gives  a facility  in  doing  acts  which  have 
often  been  performed . This  peculiarity  is  derived  from 
that  just  considered.  It  is  the  tendency  that  gives 
the  facility;  the  acquired  momentum  that  gives  the 
velocity.  At  first  the  work  could  be  done  only  by  an 
effort,  only  by  a special  act  of  the  will  setting  itself 
to  devise  means  and  avoid  obstacles.  Now  the  process, 
once  begun,  goes  on  of  itself.  As  a consequence,  that 
which  may  at  first  have  been  irksome,  because  labo- 
rious, now  becomes  pleasant  because  easy,  — and  now 
natural,  that  is  according  to  a natural  law. 

Under  the  other  aspect  of  habit,  we  were  led  to 
view  its  evil  results.  Now  we  are  rather  invited  to 
contemplate  its  beneficent  effects  ; and,  surely,  the  law 
of  habit,  like  every  other  part  of  our  constitution,  was 
appointed  for  good  by  our  Maker.  True,  it  is  found 
that  when  we  abuse  this  law  it  has  within  itself,  and 
evidently  provided  for  this  end,  the  means  of  inflicting 
a terrible  judicial  punishment.  But,  certainly,  the  law 
is  good  to  them  that  use  it  lawfully.  We  have  for- 
gotten a great  deal  of  our  childish  experiences,  yet  we 
remember  so  much,  and  we  see  enough  to  convince  us, 
that  that  little  boy  has  his  trials  at  every  stage  as  he 
learns  to  read,  — as  first  he  masters  the  letters  one 
by  one,  then  the  words,  word  after  word  ; and  then  is 
able,  out  of  these  black  strokes,  to  gather  a history, 
or  a science,  or  a doctrine  regarding  God  and  Christ, 
and  the  soul,  and  the  world  to  come.  And  yet  how 
easy  do  we  now  find  all  this  as  in  a few  minutes  we 
read  a whole  page,  with  perhaps  its  1,500  letters  ! I 
mention  this  for  the  encouragement  of  those  who  are 
pursuing  their  education.  For,  gentlemen,  our  efforts 
to  improve  our  minds  should  not  cease  with  our  child- 
hood. We  should  be  scholars  all  our  days  on  earth,  and 


30 


HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 


until  we  shall  reach  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  where, 
I suppose,  we  shall  also  be  scholars  sitting  at  the  feet 
of  the  Great  Teacher.  I recommend  that  every  young 
man  should,  at  every  particular  time,  be  ambitiously 
and  resolutely  engaged  at  his  leisure-hours  in  master- 
ing some  new  branch  of  knowledge,  secular  or  sacred. 
Let  one  propose  to  himself  to  acquire  a new  language, 
say  German  or  French  ; another,  to  master  a science, 
say  chemistry  or  natural  history ; a third,  to  become 
thoroughly  familiar  with  some  department  of  civil  his- 
tory ; while  others,  or  the  same,  would  make  them- 
selves conversant  with  Bible  history,  or  of  the  history 
of  the  Church  of  Christ  in  the  early  ages,  or  of  the 
Reformation  struggle,  with  its  instructive  lessons  and 
thrilling  incidents  of  suffering  and  martyrdom ; or 
they  would  master  the  system  of  Christian  theology, 
or  the  plan  and  reasoning  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Ro- 
mans. In  prosecuting  any  one  of  these  studies,  they 
will  find  difficulties  ; but  let  me  assure  them  for  their 
encouragement,  that  these  will  be  felt  only  at  the  be- 
ginning, and  will  disappear  and  be  forgotten,  like  the 
difficulties  you  had  years  ago  in  learning  the  alpha- 
bet. And  these  difficulties  being  overcome,  you  will 
find  your  minds  strengthened  and  braced  by  the  very 
effort  you  have  made  and  the  victory  you  have  gained. 
Of  all  attainments,  my  young  friends,  youthful  habits 
of  a useful  kind  are  to  j^ou  the  most  valuable,  — more 
valuable  than  even  all  the  knowledge  you  may  have 
acquired  in  forming  them.  And  youth  is  the  special 
time  for  acquiring  habits : habits  of  industry  and 
application  ; habits  of  manliness  and  independence  ; 
habits  of  activity ; habits  of  benevolence  and  self- 
sacrifice  ; habits  of  reading ; habits  of  rigid  thought ; 
habits  of  devotion.  I have  been  uttering  a warning 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL. 


31 


against  the  formation  of  evil  habits  ; but  you  will  not 
be  able  to  prevent  bad  habits  in  any  other  way  than 
by  cultivating  good  ones.  You  will  not  be  able  to 
keep  down  the  weeds  except  by  preoccupying  the  soil 
with  good  seed.  And,  as  I have  said,  the  very  la- 
bor you  have  undergone  in  forming  good  habits  will 
harden  you  for  further  exertion.  There  is  a fable 
told  somewhere  of  a Norman  captain,  who  became 
possessed  of  the  virtues  — whether  courage,  sagacity, 
perseverance,  or  whatever  else  — of  the  persons  slain 
by  him  in  battle.  This  fable  becomes  a fact  in  the 
history  of  every  one  who  has  acquired  a good  habit. 
Every  difficulty  surmounted  by  him  in  a branch  of 
useful  knowledge  clothes  him  with  new  strength  and 
prepares  him  for  new  conquests. 

I am  to  apply  these  general  laws  of  habit  to  the 
subject  of  education. 

It  should  be  a principal  aim  of  education  to  produce 
good  habits.  The  teacher  should  not  be  satisfied  with 
mere  mechanical  rules  prescribed  in  the  text-book  or 
laid  down  by  himself.  The  pupil  should  not  be  con- 
tented with  learning  lessons  by  rote.  Habit  is  pro- 
verbially a second  nature,  and  the  instruction  should 
be  engrafted  into  this  second  nature.  The  work  should 
not  be  regarded  as  over  when  the  pupil  has  finished 
his  lesson ; it  should  be  called  up  anew  and  subjected 
to  a process  of  rumination.  The  boy  learning  Latin 
should  be  taught  to  think  at  times  in  Latin,  and  in 
Greek  when  he  is  learning  Greek ; he  should,  as  it 
were,  say  to  himself,  How  would  a Roman  put  this,  or 
an  inhabitant  of  ancient  Athens  ? and  he  should  apply 
geometry  to  the  figures  and  heights  around  him. 

About  the  first  thing  which  a teacher  should  seek 


32 


HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 


/ 


to  produce  is  a habit  of  application.  In  order  to  do 
this  he  must  secure  attention  to  the  lesson  learned  and 
accuracy  in  saying  it.  Most  boys  have  not  this  power 
naturally  ; they  are  rather  characterized  by  volatility. 
Some  seem  to  have  as  little  power  over  their  own 
minds  as  they  have  over  those  of  others.  Some  never 
acquire  the  habit,  and  have  to  suffer  all  their  life  in 
consequence  ; and  are  outstripped  by  people  of  in- 
ferior talents,  but  who  are  distinguished  by  their  in- 
dustry. Perseverance  is  a greater  security  for  success 
in  life  than  bright  talents,  and  it  is  very  much  the 
result  of  habits  acquired,  and  ever  impelling  men  to 
go  on  in  the  course  on  which  they  have  entered.  The 
bodily  frames  of  the  young  men  now  before  me  are 
growing,  and,  altogether  unconsciously  to  themselves, 
are  taking  the  shape  which  they  are  to  retain  through 
life : so  their  characters,  at  home  and  at  school,  are 
being  fashioned  into  the  form,  good  or  evil,  which 
they  are  to  keep  through  time  and  eternity. 

At  this  point  the  question  arises,  What  branches 
should  be  taught  in  our  upper  schools  to  secure  this 
end  ? I have  to  reply  first  in  a general  way,  that  it 
should  be  the  highest  aim  of  a school  and  college  to 
educate,  that  is,  to  draw  out  and  educate  the  faculties 
which  God  has  given  us.  Our  Creator,  no  doubt, 
means  all  things  in  our  world  to  be  perfect  in  the 
end ; but  He  has  not  made  them  perfect ; He  has  left 
room  for  growth  and  progress ; and  it  is  a task  laid 
on  His  intelligent  creatures  to  be  fellow-workers  with 
Him  in  finishing  that  work  which  He  has  left  incom- 
plete, merely  that  they  may  have  honorable  employ- 
ment in  completing  it.  Education  ought  to  be  a gym- 
nastic to  all  our  powers,  not  overlooking  those  of  the 
body  ; that  every  muscle  may  be  braced  to  its  manly 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL. 


33 


exercise,  that  our  young  men  may  be  able  to  assume 
the  natural  posture  and  make  proper  use  of  their  arms 
and  limbs,  which  so  many  of  our  best  scholars  feel  in 
their  public  appearances  to  be  inconvenient  appen- 
dages. It  should  seek  specially  to  stimulate  and 
strengthen,  by  exercising,  the  intellectual  powers  : such 
as  the  generalizing  or  classifying  by  which  we  arrange 
the  objects  which  present  themselves  into  group,  ordi- 
nate and  coordinate  ; and  the  abstracting,  analyzing 
capacities,  by  which  we  reduce  the  complexities  of 
nature  to  a few  comprehensible  and  manageable  ele- 
ments ; and  the  reasoning,  by  which  we  rise  from  the 
known  and  the  present  to  the  unknown  and  remote. 
The  studies  of  an  educational  institution  should  be 
organized  towards  this  end,  and  all  its  apparatus  of 
languages,  sciences,  physical  and  mental,  and  mathe- 
matical exercises  should  be  means  to  accomplish  it. 

But  then  man  has  other  endowments  than  the  un- 
derstanding in  the  narrow  sense  of  the  term  : he  has 
a fancy  capable  of  presenting  brighter  pictures  than 
any  reality,  an  imagination  which  will  not  be  confined 
within  the  limits  of  time  and  this  world,  a taste  and  a 
sensibility  which  can  appreciate  beauty  and  sublimity 
in  earth  and  sky ; and  these  ought  to  be  called  forth 
and  cultivated  in  our  academic  groves  by  youth  being 
made  to  know  and  led  to  relish  our  finest  literature, 
ancient  and  modern,  in  prose  and  poetry;  I add  — 
though,  in  doing  so,  I may  seem  to  be  placing  the 
ideal  too  high  — by  having  museums  and  art-galleries, 
the  means  of  displaying  the  aesthetic  qualities  of  the 
creature,  inanimate  and  animate,  in  art  and  nature. 
Our  academic  institutions,  which  are  to  fashion  the 
ruling  minds  of  the  country,  are  never  to  forget  that 
man  has  high  emotional  susceptibilities,  which  should 


34 


HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 


be  evoked  by  narratives,  by  eloquence,  by  incidents 
presented  in  history,  in  literature,  in  art ; and  that,  as 
the  crown  upon  his  brow  placed  there  by  his  Maker, 
he  has  a moral  and  spiritual  nature,  which  is  to  be 
developed  and  purified  by  the  contemplation  of  a holy 
law,  and  of  a holy  God  embodying  that  law,  and  of  a 
God  incarnate  with  human  sympathies  inducing  us  to 
draw  nigh  when  we  should  be  driven  back  by  a con- 
sciousness of  guilt  on  the  one  hand,  and  a view  of  the 
dazzling  purity  of  the  Fountain  of  Light  on  the  other. 
. Now,  at  this  entrance  examination  every  study 
seeking  admission  into  the  curriculum  of  a school  or 
college  should  be  made  to  appear.  In  order  to  matric- 
ulation it  must  show  that  it  is  fitted  to  refine  and  en- 
large the  noble  powers  which  God  has  given  us.  In 
accomplishing  this  end  I am  prepared  to  vindicate  the 
high  place  which  has  been  allotted  to  languages  in 
all  the  famous  colleges  of  the  old  world  and  the  new, 
though  I cannot  defend  the  exclusive  place  which  has 
been  given  them  in  some.  Without  entering  upon  the 
psychological  question  whether  the  power  of  thinking 
by  means  of  symbols  be  or  be  not  an  original  faculty 
of  the  mind,  or  the  physiological  one  whether  its  seat, 
as  M.  Broca  maintains  he  has  proven,  be  in  the  pos- 
terior part  of  the  third  frontal  convolution  of  the  left 
anterior  lobe  of  the  brain,  I am  prepared  to  maintain 
that  it  is  a natural  gift,  early  appearing  and  strong  in 
youth.  You  see  it  in  the  young  child  acquiring  its 
language  spontaneously,  and  delighting  to  ring  its 
vocables  the  live-long  day ; in  the  boy  of  nine  or  ten 
years  old  learning  Latin  — when  he  could  not  master 
a science  — quite  as  quickly  as  the  man  of  mature 
age.  In  the  systematic  training  of  the  mind  we  should 
not  set  ourselves  against,  but  rather  fall  in  with,  this 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL . 


35 


natural  tendency  and  facility.  Boys  can  acquire  a 
language  when  they  are  not  able  to  wrestle  with  any 
other  severe  study ; and  why  should  they  not  be  em- 
ployed in  what  they  are  capable  of  doing  ? 

There  are  persons  forever  telling  us  that  children 
should  be  taught  to  attend  to  “ things  ” rather  than 
“ words.”  But  words  are  things  having  an  important 
place  in  our  bodily  organization  and  mental  constitu- 
tion, in  both  of  which  the  power  of  speech  is  one  of 
the  qualities  that  raise  us  above  the  brutes.  And,  then, 
it  can  be  shown  that  it  is  mainly  by  language  that  we 
come  to  a knowledge  of  things.  This  arises  not  only 
from  the  circumstance  that  we  get  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  our  knowledge  from  our  fellow-men  through 
speech  and  writing,  but  because  it  is,  in  a great  meas- 
ure, by  words  that  we  are  induced,  nay,  compelled  to 
observe,  to  compare,  to  abstract,  to  analyze,  to  classify, 
to  reason.  How  little  can  we  know  of  things  without 
language  ? How  little  do  deaf  mutes  know  till  they 
are  taught  the  use  of  signs ! I have  known  some  of 
them  considerably  advanced  in  life  who  not  only  did 
not  know  that  the  soul  was  immortal,  but  even  that 
the  body  was  mortal.  Children  obtain  by  far  the 
larger  part  of  their  information  from  parents,  brothers, 
sisters,  nurses,  teachers,  companions,  and  fellow-men 
generally,  and  this  comes  by  speech  and  writing.  But 
this  is,  after  all,  the  least  part  of  the  benefit  thus  de- 
rived ; it  is  in  understanding  and  using  intelligently 
words  and  sentences  that  children  are  first  led  to  no- 
tice particularly  things  and  their  properties,  to  per- 
ceive their  resemblances  and  discern  their  differences. 
Nature  presents  us  only  with  particulars,  which,  as 
Plato  remarked  long  ago,  are  infinite  and  therefore 
confusing ; and  the  language  formed  by  our  fore- 


36  HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 

fathers  and  inherited  by  us  puts  them  into  intelligi- 
ble groups  for  us.  Nature  shows  us  only  concretes, 
that  is,  objects  with  their  varied  qualities,  that  is,  with 
complexities  beyond  the  penetration  of  children ; and 
language  makes  them  intelligible  by  separating  the 
parts  and  calling  attention  to  common  qualities. 
Nouns,  verbs,  adjectives,  conjunctions,  and  other  parts 
of  speech  in  a cultivated  tongue  introduce  us  to  things 
as  men  have  thought  about  them  in  the  use  of  their 
faculties  and  combined  them  for  general  and  for 
special  purposes,  primarily,  no  doubt,  for  their  own 
use  and  advantage,  but  turning  out  to  be  a valuable 
inheritance  to  their  children,  who  get  access  to  things 
with  the  thought  of  ages  superinduced  upon  them,  as 
it  were,  set  in  a frame-work  for  us  that  we  may  study 
them  more  readily.  In  the  phrases  of  a civilized 
tongue  we  have  a set  of  discriminations  and  compari- 
sons spontaneously  fashioned  by  our  ancestors,  often 
more  fresh  and  subtle,  always  more  immediately  and 
practically  useful,  than  those  of  the  most  advanced 
science.  Then,  a new  language  introduces  us  to  new 
generalizations  and  new  abstractions  made,  it  may  be, 
by  a people  of  a different  genius  and  differently  situ- 
ated, and  thus  widens  and  varies  our  view  of  things, 
and  saves  us  from  being  the  slaves  of  our  own  tongue, 
saves  us,  in  fact,  from  putting  words  for  things,  put- 
ting counters  for  money  (as  Hobbes  says),  which  we 
should  be  apt  to  do  if  we  knew  only  one  word  for  the 
thing.  Charles  Y.  uttered  a deep  truth,  whether  he 
understood  it  or  not,  when  he  said  that  a man  was  as 
many  times  a man  as  he  acquired  a new  tongue.  Then, 
on  learning  a language  grammatically,  whether  our 
own  or  another,  we  have  to  learn  or  gather  rules  and 
judiciously  apply  them,  to  see  the  rule  in  the  example 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL. 


37 


and  collect  the  rule  out  of  the  example ; and  in  all 
this  the  more  elementary  intellectual  powers,  not  only 
the  memory,  but  the  apprehension  and  quickness  of 
perception  and  discernment,  are  quite  as  effectually 
called  forth  and  disciplined  as  by  any  other  study  in 
which  the  youthful  mind  is  capacitated  to  engage. 

I have  been  struggling  to  give  expression  in  a few 
sentences  to  thoughts  which  it  would  require  a whole 
lecture  fully  to  unfold.  Such  considerations  seem  to  me 
to  prove  that  we  should  continue  to  give  to  language 
an  important  — I do  not  say  an  exclusive  — place 
in  our  academies  and  the  younger  collegiate  classes. 
Among  languages  a choice  must  be  made,  and  there 
are  three  which  have  such  claims  that  every  student 
should  be  instructed  in  them;  and  there  are  others 
which  have  claims  on  those  who  have  special  aptitudes 
and  destinations  in  life.  There  is  the  Latin,  impor- 
tant in  itself  and  from  the  part  which  it  has  played  in 
history.  It  has  an  educational  value  from  the  breadth, 
regularity,  and  logical  accuracy  of  its  structure,  giv- 
ing us  a perfect  grammar,  with  its  clear  expression 
and  its  stately  methodical  march,  like  that  of  a Roman 
army.  It  is  of  vast  value  from  its  literature,  second 
only  to  that  of  Greece  in  the  old  and  to  that  of  Eng- 
land and  Germany  in  modern  times,  and  a model  still 
to  be  looked  to  by  England  and  by  Germany  if  they 
would  make  progress  in  the  future  as  they  have  done 
in  the  past.  Besides  its  intrinsic  worth,  it  has  histor- 
ical value  as  the  mother  of  other  European  languages, 
as  the  Italian,  the  French,  the  Spanish,  the  Portu- 
guese, to  all  of  which  it  is  the  best  introduction  ; and 
as  the  venerated  grandmother  of  our  own  tongue, 
telling  us  of  its  descent,  its  lineage,  and  its  history ; 
as  the  transmitter  — let  us  not  forget  — of  ancient  and 


88  HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 

Eastern  learning  to  modern  times  and  Western  coun- 
tries ; and  as  the  common  language  for  ages  on  litera- 
ture and  philosophy,  in  law  and  theology,  and  thus 
containing  treasures  to  which  every  educated  man  re- 
quires some  time  or  other  to  have  access. 

Then  there  is  the  Greek,  the  most  subtle,  delicate, 
and  expressive  of  all  old  languages,  embodying  the 
fresh  thoughts  of  the  most  intellectual  people  of  the 
ancient  world,  and  containing  a literature  which  is  un- 
surpassed, perhaps  not  equalled,  for  the  liveliness, 
purity,  and  grace,  of  its  poetry,  and  for  the  combined 
firmness  and  flexibility  of  its  prose,  as  seen,  for  in- 
stance, in  Plato,  who  can  mount  to  the  highest  sub- 
limities and  descend  to  the  lowest  familiarities  without 
falling  — like  the  elephant’s  trunk,  equally  fitted  to 
tear  an  oak  or  lift  a leaf.  And  it  is  never  to  be  for- 
gotten that  it  is  the  language  of  the  New  Testament 
in  which  our  religion  is  embodied.  Luther  said  : “If 
we  do  not  keep  up  the  tongues  we  will  not  keep  up 
the  gospel ; ” and  so  the  stream  is  still  to  be  encour- 
aged to  flow  on  if  we  would  keep  up  the  connection 
between  Christianity  and  its  fountains. 

A nation  studiously  giving  up  the  study  of  these 
tongues  would  be  virtually  cut  off  from  the  past,  and 
would  be  apt  to  become  stagnant,  like  a pool  into 
which  no  streams  flow  and  from  which  none  issue, 
instead  of  a lake  receiving  pure  waters  from  above 
and  giving  them  out  below.  These  languages  differ 
widely  from  ours;  but  just  because  they  do  so  they 
serve  a good  purpose,  letting  us  into  a different  order 
and  style  of  thought,  less  analytic,  more  synthetic,  as 
it  is  commonly  expressed,  more  concrete,  as  I express 
it,  — that  is,  introducing  us  to  things  as  they  are,  and 
in  their  natural  connection.  True,  tliey~  are  dead 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL. 


39 


languages ; but  then  just  because  they  are  so  we  can 
get  a completed  biography  of  them  ; and  as  we  dis- 
sect them  they  lie  passive,  like  bodies  under  the  knife 
of  the  anatomist.  As  Hobbes  puts  it,  “ They  have  put 
off  flesh  and  blood  to  put  on  immortality.”  They  are 
dead,  and  yet  they  live  ; living  in  the  works  which 
have  been  written  in  them,  with  their  diversity  of 
knowledge  ; living  specially  in  their  literature,  which 
is  imperishable  ; while  for  fitness  of  phrase,  brevity, 
clearness,  directness,  and  severity  they  are  models  for 
all  ages,  bringing  us  back  to  simplicity  when  we  would 
err  by  extravagance,  and  to  be  specially  studied  by  the 
rising  generation  of  our  time,  when  there  is  so  much 
looseness  and  inflation,  stump  oratory  and  sensation- 
alism. It  would  be  difficult  to  define,  but  we  all 
know,  or  at  least  feel,  what  is  meant  by  a classical 
taste  ; there  are  persons  who  acquire  its  chaste  color 
spontaneously,  as  the  Greeks  and  Romans  must  have 
done  ; but  in  fact  it  has  been  mainly  fostered  by  living 
and  breathing  in  the  atmosphere  of  ancient  Greece 
and  Rome ; and  our  youths  may  acquire  it  most  read- 
ily by  travelling  in  the  same  region  where  the  air  is 
ever  pure  and  fresh.  I believe  that  our  language  and 
literature  will  run  a great  risk  of  hopelessly  degen- 
erating if  we  are  not  ever  restrained  and  corrected, 
while  we  are  enlivened  and  refreshed,  by  these  fault- 
less models. 

There  are  other  tongues  which  have  a claim  on  edu- 
cated men,  such  as  the  French,  with  its  delicate  con- 
versational idiom  and  the  abstract  clearness,  amount- 
ing to  transparency,  of  its  prose  ; and  the  German, 
with  its  profound  common  sense  and  its  grand  litera- 
ture, worthy  of  being  placed  alongside  that  of  ancient 
Greece  and  Rome,  and  excelling  it  in  the  revelation 


40 


HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 


which  it  gives  of  the  depths  of  human  nature.  I am 
inclined  to  think  that  either  or  both  of  these  should 
have  places  in  the  courses  of  our  academies  and  col- 
leges, provided  always  that  they  be  taught  as  Greek 
and  Latin  are,  as  branches  of  learning,  taught  philo- 
logically,  taught  so  as  to  illustrate  character  and  his- 
tory, and,  above  all,  so  as  to  lead  us  to  appreciate 
their  literature. 

But  prior  to  all  these  and  posterior  to  them,  above 
them  all  and  below  them  all,  is  a tongue  with  an  im- 
perative claim  upon  us,  and  that  is  our  own  language, 
the  tongue  of  the  mother  of  us  all  — Great  Britain 
and  her  colonies  — and  the  language  of  her  eldest 
daughter,  which  should  acknowledge  her  inferiority 
only  in  this  that  she  is  the  daughter  and  the  other  the 
mother.  It  has  a claim  on  our  love  and  esteem  be- 
cause it  is  our  own  tongue,  which  we  learned  at  our 
mother’s  knees,  that  with  which  we  are  and  ever  must 
be  most  familiar,  and  which  comes  home  most  closely 
to  our  hearts ; because  it  is  in  itself  a noble  language, 
with  roots  simple  and  concrete,  striking  deep  into 
home  and  heart  experience,  and  grafted  on  these  from 
foreign  stocks  for  reflective  and  scientific  use ; be- 
cause it  has  been  enriched  by  the  ideas  and  fancies, 
the  comparisons  and  metaphors,  of  men  profound  in 
thought  and  fertile  in  imagination ; and  yet  more  be- 
cause of  its  manly  and  massive,  its  rich  and  varied 
literature,  prose  and  poetry,  revolving  round  themes 
which  it  never  entered  into  the  heart  of  Greek  or  Ro- 
man to  conceive.  If  a Briton  or  an  American  can 
study  only  one  language,  let  it  be  the  English.  A col- 
lege youth’s  education  is  incomplete,  though  he  should 
know  all  other  tongues,  if  he  be  ignorant  of  the  ge- 
nius and  literature  of  his  own.  There  should,  I hold, 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL. 


41 


be  special  classes  for  the  English  language  and  litera- 
ture, with  competent  professors  in  every  academy  and 
college  of  every  English-speaking  country.  But  in 
order  that  English  have  a place  in  an  educational  in- 
stitution, it  must  fall  in  with  the  spirit  of  the  place  and 
conform  to  its  laws ; it  must  be  taught  as  a branch  of 
learning,  as  a branch  of  science  ( wissenschaftlich ) ; it 
must  be  bared  up  to  its  roots ; it  must  be  studied  in  its 
formation,  growth,  and  historical  development,  and, 
above  all,  it  must  be  taught  so  as  to  give  a relish  for 
its  noblest  works  in  all  departments,  and  thus  secure  in 
the  training  of  our  young  men  that  it  has  a literature 
in  the  future  not  unworthy  of  its  literature  in  the 
past. 

But  are  we,  you  ask,  to  leave  out  science  from  the 
curriculum  ? So  far  from  it,  I place  science  higher 
than  language  and  equal  to  literature.  But  let  every 
study  come  at  its  proper  time,  at  the  time  when  the 
mind  is  able  to  take  up  and  understand  it.  The  boy 
or  the  girl  might  begin  to  learn  a foreign  tongue,  say 
Latin  or  French,  about  the  age  of  nine  or  ten,  the  les- 
sons always  being  short,  simple,  and  easy,  and  not 
straining  the  intellect.  Geography  and  arithmetic, 
which  are,  in  fact,  elementary  sciences,  might  begin 
earlier,  at  eight,  or  even  seven,  and  might  be  taught  so 
as  to  become  interesting.  Mathematics,  with  the  great 
majority  of  boys,  should  not  be  entered  upon  till  the 
understanding  is  more  matured,  and  the  brain,  as  the 
organ  of  the  mind,  consolidated.  About  the  same 
time  simple  natural  science  might  be  commenced,  with 
enjoyment  attached  to  it.  By  this  time  the  observing 
powers  are  ready,  often  eager,  to  work.  It  is  better 
they  should  be  employed  in  operations  that  may  be 
profitable  as  well  as  pleasant,  say  in  gathering  plants 


42 


HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 


or  minerals,  or  in  observing  the  form  and  figures  of 
animals.  Simple  physical  or  chemical  experiments 
may  be  performed  to  train  to  manipulation  and  to 
mental  analysis,  that  is,  to  find  out  what  things  are 
composed  of.  These  operations  might  be  made  partly 
an  amusement,  but  really  a means  of  exercising  the 
observing  and  calling  forth  the  reflecting  powers. 
Pains  must  be  taken  never  to  make  the  teaching  a 
mere  mass  of  details  — exercising  only  the  memory 
and  thereby  overloading  it  and  surfeiting  it,  and  pro- 
ducing a disgust  which  tempts  the  boy  ever  after  to 
turn  away  from  the  study.  The  youth  should  be  car- 
ried on  in  science  only  so  far  as  he  understands  it. 
Abstract  science,  dealing  with  laws  and  formulas  and 
high  generalizations,  should  be  reserved  for  the  later 
years  of  school-life,  and  be  so  taught  as  to  allure  boys 
on  to  college,  to  carry  on  what  they  have  begun. 

It  is  to  be  freely  and  fully  admitted  that  it  is  not 
possible  to  make  every  member  of  an  academy  or  col- 
lege a great  classical  scholar  or  a great  mathematician, 
nor  to  make  every  student  keep  up  his  studies  all  his 
life.  But  is  the  benefit  derived  from  the  training 
thereby  and  therefore  lost?  I hold  that  if  the  branches 
have  been  taught  honestly  and  effectively,  they  have 
so  far  fulfilled  their  purpose,  even  though  they  have 
not  been  carried  out  as  far  and  as  long  as  we  could 
wish.  For  another  department  of  training  it  is  good 
for  the  boy  to  practise  gymnastics,  and  he  may  derive 
benefit  all  his  life  from  the  habit  of  body  imparted, 
even  though  he  does  not  continue  to  run  and  leap  and 
swing  clubs.  The  good  I get  from  my  food  may  con- 
tinue for  hours,  even  though  I am  not  always  eating. 
The  health  I derive  from  a pedestrian  tour  may  last 
for  months,  though  my  life  during  that  time  may  be 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL. 


43 


very  much  in-doors.  So  the  training  of  a boy  may  con- 
tinue in  its  effect,  even  though  he  is  not  engaged  in 
the  same  exercises  as  he  was  at  school  or  college. 

But  it  is  said,  why  drill  young  men  in  Greek  when 
so  many  forget  it  after  they  leave  college  ? The  frank 
and  honest  gentleman  who  turns  away  from  Greek 
as  from  a fetish  tells  us  that  he  has  lost  his  knowl- 
edge of  that  tongue.  I am  tempted  to  say  the  more 
is  the  pity ; but  I have  to  add  that  I am  not  sure 
whether  he  did  not  get  from  the  literature  of  Greece 
some  stimulus  and  guidance  in  the  formation  of  that 
clear  and  incisive  style  of  which  he  is  such  a master. 
And  is  it  not  true  of  other  branches,  as  well  as  Greek, 
that  they  are  apt  to  be  dropped  ? How  few  pursue 
mathematics  after  they  leave  the  college,  and  yet  that 
lawyer  got  from  his  geometry  that  consecutive  mode 
of  thinking  which  makes  his  papers  and  speeches  so 
valued  ! Only  a few  practise  physical  and  chemical 
experiments  through  life,  and  yet  that  busy  man  re- 
tains from  his  youthful  science  a knowledge  and  a 
shrewdness  which  makes  him  succeed  in  business. 
That  preacher  has  given  up  reading  Plato  and  Cicero, 
perhaps  even  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  but  he  has  a 
style  which  was  formed  on  the  model  of  these  great 
authors.  Whence,  it  is  asked,  come  these  well-waters 
which  do  so  refresh  us  ? I answer,  from  the  soil  and 
the  rains  of  heaven,  which  have  been  penetrating 
it,  and  which  are  ready  to  burst  forth  anywhere. 
Whence,  people  ask,  comes  that  flow  of  conversation, 
of  writing,  of  eloquence,  for  which  some  are  distin- 
guished, and  which  makes  us  almost  envy  them  ? 
Whether  they  know  it  or  not,  it  was  caught  from  that 
early  instruction  which  they  received  from  living 
teachers.  Whence  that  consecutive  thought  which 


44 


HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE 


traces  effects  to  causes,  and  follows  causes  on  to  con- 
sequences? It  was  obtained  by  that  training  in  math- 
ematical and  physical  science  which  they  studied  in 
the  opening  years  of  their  life. 

But  while  mature  men  cannot  keep  all  the  studies 
of  their  youth  in  their  busy  after-life  they  should  con- 
tinue some  of  them  : say,  those  they  have  a taste  for, 
natural  or  acquired,  those  that  may  assist  them  in 
their  business,  or  those  which  they  have  a convenient 
means  of  pursuing.  Teachers  should  labor  so  to  im- 
part knowledge  that  it  leaves  a taste  and  relish  on  the 
palate,  and  so  that  the  pupils  delight  to  return  to  it. 
In  teaching  languages,  ancient  or  modern,  school  and 
college  should  combine  to  carry  on  the  pupil  to  such  a 
stage  that  he  can  read  an  ordinary  work  in  the  tongue 
ad  aperturam  libri  ; without  this  he  will  be  apt  never 
to  go  back  to  his  studies,  and  may  come  to  look  upon 
them  with  aversion,  as  associated  with  drudgery.  The 
busiest  man  may  find  relief  from  the  burden  and  pres- 
sure of  the  day  by  pleasant  and  profitable  reading,  in 
the  evening,  of  the  best  authors  in  history  or  biography, 
in  poetry  or  in  politics.  He  may  make  a collection 
of  plants  or  of  minerals  in  summer,  and  in  winter  use 
a microscope  or  small  telescope,  or  a well-selected  ap- 
paratus for  experiments.  In  these  ways  he  may  make 
life  more  varied  and  happier  than  by  having  his  whole 
time  and  life  absorbed  in  business.  The  benefit  of 
his  youthful  studies  may  thus  be  prolonged  into  ma- 
ture manhood  and  old  age. 

In  this  country  we  have  no  aristocracy,  I mean 
landed  aristocracy,  such  as  they  have  in  the  old  na- 
tions of  Europe.  These  aristocracies,  when  they  are 
not  immoral,  which,  however,  they  not  un frequently 
are,  serve  a high  purpose ; they  may  so  far  have  a re- 


IN  THE  TRAINING  AT  SCHOOL . 


45 


fining  influence  upon  the  manners  and  tastes  of  society 
generally.  But  we  cannot  have  such  an  order  in  our 
country,  and  I,  for  my  part,  scarcely  regret  it ; for 
with  the  good  there  were  incidental  evils,  there  being 
no  security  that  there  is  a high  moral  tone  in  such  a 
circle.  Of  late  years  there  has  sprung  up  in  America 
an  aristocracy  of  wealth  which  is  partly  for  good  and 
partly  for  evil,  like  the  hereditary  nobility  of  Europe. 
The  members  of  it  can  afford  to  give  large  gifts  for 
philanthropic  objects  ; and  I am  in  a position  to  testify 
that  many  of  them  do  so,  and  their  wealth  is  in  many 
cases  devoted  to  the  erection  of  churches,  colleges,  and 
schools,  to  the  purchase  of  fine  buildings,  of  statues 
and  paintings,  and  the  encouragement  thereby  of  the 
fine  arts.  But  in  many  other  cases  the  expenditure  is 
vulgar  in  the  extreme,  at  times  debasing  and  demoral- 
izing, fostering  low  tastes  and  leading  to  corrupting 
practices. 

But  it  is  of  importance  in  every  country  to  have 
an  upper  class.  These  should  rise  like  towers  and 
steeples  in  our  towns  and,  villages,  like  mountains 
overtopping  the  plains,  imparting  picturesqueness  to 
the  scenery,  preserving  it  in  the  fancy,  and  enabling 
us  to  remember  it.  First,  and  in  front,  we  should 
seek  to  have  a high-toned  moral  and  religious  class 
spread  throughout  the  community  like  salt  to  keep  it 
from  corruption.  This,  under  God,  is  to  be  the  safe- 
guard  to  our  homes  and  to  the  country  generally.  But 
we  need  an  aristocracy  for  other  and  noble  ends.  We 
must  have  a highly  educated  class,  trained  at  our 
upper  schools  and  colleges,  and  diffusing  everywhere 
an  elevating  influence.  These  men,  it  is  true,  are 
tempted  at  times  to  despise  the  maxim  of  Bacon,  who 
says  that  a man  can  enter  the  kingdom  of  nature  only 


46 


HABIT  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE , ETC. 


as  he  enters  the  kingdom  of  grace,  by  becoming  a 
little  child ; and  falling  under  the  pride  of  intellect, 
which  may  be  as  bad  as  the  pride  of  life,  they  may  be- 
come self-righteous,  haughty,  and  supercilious.  But 
retaining,  as  most  will,  the  true  spirit  of  science  and 
of  learning,  they  will  be  ready  in  their  localities  to 
make  provision  for  every  good  cause,  fitted  to  educate 
the  young  and  exalt  the  tastes  of  the  people  by  means 
of  science,  of  literature,  and  art.  These  men  will  give 
the  tone  to  society  in  their  districts,  and  keep  it  from 
being  corrupted  by  wealth  when  it  would  foster  ex- 
travagance in  living,  intemperance,  and  loose  morality. 
This  is  an  end,  I had  almost  said  the  chief  end  and 
final  cause,  of  these  fine  old  academies  in  New  Eng- 
land, and  of  the  colleges  and  universities  spread  all 
over  the  country. 


0f, 

library 


SOCIALISM.1 


Three  words  have,  of  recent  years,  become  very 
familiar,  and  yet  not  of  less  and  less,  but  of  more  and 
more,  formidable  sound  to  the  good  and  quiet  citizens 
of  America  and  of  Western  Europe. 

These  words  are : Nihilism,  Communism,  Socialism. 

Nihilism,  so  far  as  one  can  find  out,  expresses  rather 
a method,  or  a means,  than  an  end.  It  is  difficult  to 
say  just  what  Nihilism  does  imply.  So  much  appears 
reasonably  certain  — that  the  primary  object  of  the 
Nihilists  is  destruction  ; that  the  abolition  of  the  exist- 
ing order,  not  the  construction  of  a new  order,  is  in 
their  view ; that,  whatever  their  ulterior  designs,  or 
whether  or  no  they  have  any  ultimate  purpose  in  which 
they  are  all  or  generally  agreed,  the  one  object  which 
now  draws  and  holds  them  together,  in  spite  of  all  the 
terrors  of  arbitrary  power,  is  the  abolition,  not  only  of 
all  existing  governments,  but  of  all  political  estates,  all 
institutions,  all  privileges,  all  forms  of  authority ; and 
that  to  this  is  postponed  whatever  plans,  purposes,  or 

1 After  the  delivery  of  this  lecture,  President  Walker,  at  the  request 
of  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner’s  Sons,  prepared  especially  for  them  an 
article  on  the  same  subject  for  the  first  number  of  their  new  magazine, 
which  embodied  essentially  all  that  was  said  at  Exeter,  with  much  ad- 
ditional matter  in  the  way  of  illustration,  definition,  etc.  By  their  and 
his  kind  permission  this  article  is  here  reprinted. 


48 


SOCIALISM. 


wishes  the  confederation,  or  its  members  individually, 
may  cherish  concerning  the  reorganization  of  society.1 

Confining  ourselves,  then,  to  the  contemplation  of 
Socialism  and  Communism,  let  us  inquire  what  are  the 
distinctive  features  of  each. 

Were  one  disposed  to  be  hypercritical  and  harsh  in 
dealing  with  the  efforts  of  well-meaning  men  to  express 
views  and  feelings  which,  in  their  nature,  must  be  very 
vague,  he  might  make  this  chapter  as  brief  as  that 
famous  chapter  devoted  to  the  snakes  of  Ireland  — 
46  There  are  no  snakes  in  Ireland.”  So  one  might,  with 
no  more  of  unfairness  than  often  enters  into  political, 
sociological,  or  economic  controversy,  say  that  there 
are  no  features  proper  to  Communism  as  sought  to  be 
distinguished  from  Socialism ; no  features  proper  to 
Socialism  as  sought  to  be  distinguished  from  Com- 
munism. 

If,  however,  one  will  examine  the  literature  of  the 
subject,  not  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  an  advantage 
in  controversy,  or  of  finding  phrases  with  which  malice 
or  contempt  may  point  its  weapons,  but  in  the  interest 
of  truth,  and  with  the  spirit  of  candor,  he  will  not  fail 
to  apprehend  that  Communism  and  Socialism  are  dif- 
ferent things,  although  at  points  one  overlays  the  other 
in  such  a way  as  to  introduce  more  or  less  of  confusion 
into  any  statement  regarding  either. 

May  we  not  say? 

1st.  That  Communism  confines  itself  mainly,  if  not 
exclusively,  to  the  one  subject  matter  — wealth.  On 
the  other  hand,  Socialism,  conspicuously,  in  all  its 

1 M.  Anatole  Leroy-Beaulieu,  in  an  essay  on  Nihilism,  says:  u Un- 
der its  standard  we  find  revolutionists  of  all  kinds,  — authoritarians, 
federalists,  mutualists,  and  communists,  — who  agTee  only  in  post- 
poning', till  after  their  triumph  shall  be  secured,  all  discussion  of  a 
future  organization  of  the  world.” 


SOCIALISM. 


49 


manifestations,  in  all  lands  where  it  has  appeared, 
asserts  its  claim  to  control  every  interest  of  human 
society,  to  enlist  for  its  purposes  every  form  of  energy. 

2d.  That  so  far  as  wealth  becomes  the  subject  mat- 
ter of  both  Communism,  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
Socialism,  on  the  other,  we  note  a difference  of  treat- 
ment. Communism,  in  general,  regards  wealth  as  pro- 
duced, and  confines  itself  to  effecting  an  equal,  or  what 
it  esteems  an  equitable,  distribution. 

Socialism,  on  the  other  hand,  gives  its  first  and  chief 
attention  to  the  production  of  wealth  ; and,  passing 
lightly  over  the  question  of  distribution,  with  or  with- 
out assent  to  the  doctrine  of  an  equal  distribution 
among  producers,  it  asserts  the  right  to  inquire  into 
and  control  the  consumption  of  wealth  for  the  general 
good,  whether  through  sumptuary  laws  and  regulations, 
or  through  taxation  for  public  expenditure. 

3d.  That  Communism  is  essentially  negative,  con- 
fined to  the  prohibition  that  one  shall  not  have  more 
than  another.  Socialism  is  positive  and  aggressive, 
declaring  that  each  man  should  have  enough. 

It  purposes  to  introduce  new  forces  into  society  and 
industry ; to  put  a stop  to  the  idleness,  the  waste  of 
resources,  the  misdirection  of  force,  inseparable,  in 
some  large  proportion  of  instances,  from  individual 
initiative ; and  to  drive  the  whole  mass  forward  in  the 
direction  determined  by  the  intelligence  of  its  better 
half. 

4th.  While  Communism  might  conceivably  be  es- 
tablished upon  the  largest  scale,  and  has  in  a hundred 
experiments  been  upon  a small  scale  established  by 
voluntary  consent,  Socialism  begins  with  the  use  of 
the  powers  of  the  state,  and  proceeds  and  operates 
through  them  alone.  It  is  by  the  force  of  law  that 


50 


SOCIALISM. 


the  Socialist  purposes  to  whip  up  the  laggards  and  the 
delinquents  in  the  social  and  industrial  order.  It  is 
by  the  public  treasurer,  armed  with  powers  of  assess- 
ment and  sale,  that  he  plans  to  gather  the  means  for 
carrying  on  enterprises  to  which  individual  resources 
would  be  inadequate.  It  is  through  penalties  that  he 
would  check  wasteful  or  mischievous  expenditures. 

If  what  has  been  said  above  would  be  found  true 
were  one  studying  Communism  and  Socialism  as  a 
philosophical  critic,  much  more  important  will  be  the 
distinction  between  them  to  the  eye  of  the  politician 
or  the  statesman.  Communism  is,  if  not  moribund,  at 
the  best  everywhere  at  a stand-still,  generally  on  the 
wane  ; nor  does  it  show  any  sign  of  returning  vitality. 
On  the  other  hand,  Socialism  was  never  more  full  of 
lusty  vigor,  more  rich  in  the  promise  of  things  to  come, 
than  now. 

Let  us,  then,  confine  ourselves  to  Socialism  as  our 
theme,  the  purpose  being  not  so  much  to  discuss  as  to 
define,  characterize,  and  illustrate  it. 

A definition  of  Socialism  presents  peculiar  difficul- 
ties.1 The  question,  Socialism  or  non-Socialism  ? re- 
garding any  measure  ; Socialist  or  non-Socialist  ? re- 
garding any  man,  is  a question  of  degree  rather  than 
of  kind.  Let  us,  then,  undertake  to  distinguish  that 
quality  which,  when  found  above  a certain  degree,  jus- 
tifies and  requires  the  application  of  these  epithets  — 
Socialism  and  Socialist. 

I should  apply  the  term  socialistic  to  all  efforts, 
under  popular  impulse,  to  enlarge  the  functions  of 
government,  to  the  diminution  of  individual  initiative 

1 “ I have  never  met  with  a clear  definition,  or  even  a precise  de- 
scription of  the  term.  ’ ’ — The  Socialism  of  our  Day,  Smile  de  Lave- 
leye. 


SOCIALISM. 


51 


and  enterprise,  for  a supposed  public  good.  It  will  be 
observed  that  by  this  definition  it  is  made  of  the  es- 
sence of  socialistic  efforts,  that  they  should  arise  from 
popular  impulse  and  should  seek  a public  good.  This, 
it  will  be  seen,  makes  the  motive  and  the  objective  alike 
part  of  the  character  of  the  act  — say  a legislative 
measure  — equally  with  the  positive  provisions  thereof. 

“ To  enlarge  the  functions  of  government.”  It  may 
be  asked,  To  enlarge  them  beyond  what  starting-point 
or  line  ? in  excess  of  what  initial  dimensions  ? Herein 
lies  the  main  difficulty  of  the  subject ; hence  arises  the 
chief  danger  of  misunderstanding  between  the  writer 
and  his  reader ; and  it  is  probably  to  the  lack  of  a 
standard  measure  adopted  for  the  purpose  of  this  dis- 
cussion that  we  are  to  attribute,  more  than  to  any 
other  cause,  the  vague  and  unsatisfactory  character  of 
the  critical  literature  of  Socialism.  As  you  change 
your  starting-point  in  this  matter  of  the  nature  and  ex- 
tent of  government  function,  the  same  act  may,  in  turn, 
come  to  appear  socialistic,  conservative,  or  reactionary. 

A person  considering  the  direction  and  force  of  so- 
cialistic tendencies  may  take,  to  start  from,  any  one 
of  an  indefinite  number  of  successive  lines;  of  which, 
however,  the  three  following  are  alone  worth  indicat- 
ing: 

1st.  He  may  take  a certain  maximum  of  government 
functions,  to  be  fixed  by  the  general  consent  of  fairly 
conservative,  not  reactionary,  publicists  and  statesmen : 
adopting,  perhaps,  the  largest  quantum  which  any  two 
or  three  writers,  reputed  sound,  would  agree  to  con- 
cede as  consistent  with  wholesome  administration,  with 
the  full  play  and  due  encouragement  of  individual  en- 
terprise and  self-reliance,  and  with  the  reasonable  ex- 
ercise of  personal  choices  as  to  modes  of  life  and  modes 


52 


SOCIALISM. 


of  labor  ; and  may  identify  any  act  or  measure,  pro- 
posed or  accomplished,  as  socialistic  if,  under  popular 
impulse,  for  a supposed  public  good,  it  transcends  that 
line. 

2d.  He  may  take  a certain  minimum  of  government 
functions,  which  we  may  call  the  police  powers. 

3d.  He  may  draw  his  pen  along  the  boundary  of 
the  powers  of  government  as  now  existing  and  exer- 
cised, perhaps  in  his  own  country,  perhaps  in  that 
foreign  country  which  he  regards  as  the  proper  subject 
of  admiration  and  imitation  in  the  respect  under  con- 
sideration. 

There  is  a certain  advantage,  as  some  people  would 
esteem  it,  in  adopting  the  first  or  the  third  method  of 
determining  the  initial  line  for  the  purposes  of  such  a 
discussion.  That  advantage  is  found  in  the  fact  that 
the  conservative  writer,  placing  himself  on  the  actual 
or  on  the  theoretical  maximum  of  government  func- 
tions, can  treat  as  a public  enemy  every  person  who 
proposes  that  this  line  shall  be  overpassed ; and  can 
employ  the  term  socialistic  as  one  of  rebuke,  reproach, 
or  contempt,  according  to  his  own  temper.  The  line 
thus  taken  becomes  the  dividing  line  between  ortho- 
doxy and  heterodoxy,  making  it  easy  to  mark  and  to 
punish  the  slightest  deviation. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  who  takes  as  his  initial  line 
the  minimum  of  government  functions,  which  may,  in 
severe  strictness,  be  called  the  police  powers,  and  re- 
gards all  acts  and  measures  enlarging  the  functions  of 
government  beyond  this  line  as  more  or  less  socialistic, 
according  as  they  transcend  it  by  a longer  or  a shorter 
distance,  under  a stronger  or  a weaker  impulse,  cannot 
use  that  term  as  one  of  contumely  or  contempt,  inas- 
much as  in  every  civilized  country  the  functions  of 


SOCIALISM.  53 

government  have  been  pushed  beyond  the  mere  police 
powers. 

For  one,  I prefer  to  take  the  line  of  the  strict  police 
powers  of  government  as  that  from  which  to  measure 
the  force  and  direction  of  the  socialistic  movement, 
even  if  it  is  thereby  rendered  necessary  to  forego  the 
great  controversial  advantage  and  the  keen  personal 
pleasure  of  hurling  the  word  Socialist,  in  an  opprobri- 
ous sense,  at  the  head  of  any  one  who  would  go  farther 
in  the  extension  of  government  functions  than  my  own 
judgment  would  approve  ; nay,  even  if  I shall  thereby 
be  put  to  the  trouble  of  examining  any  proposed  act  or 
measure,  on  the  ground  of  its  own  merits,  in  view  of 
the  reasons  adduced  in  its  favor,  and  under  the  light  of 
experience. 

In  this  sense  the  advocacy  of  a socialistic  act  or 
measure  will  not  necessarily  characterize  a Socialist. 
Socialism  will  mean,  not  one,  but  many  things  social- 
istic. Thus,  for  example,  protection  is  socialistic.  Yet 
the  protectionist  is  not,  as  such,  a Socialist.  Most 
protectionists  are  not  Socialists.  Many  protectionists 
are,  in  their  general  views,  as  anti-socialistic  as  men 
can  well  be. 

The  Socialist,  under  this  definition,  would  be  the 
man  who,  in  general,  distrusts  the  effects  of  individual 
initiative  and  individual  enterprise  ; who  is  easily  con- 
vinced of  the  utility  of  an  assumption,  by  the  state,  of 
functions  which  have  hitherto  been  left  to  personal 
choices  and  personal  aims ; and  who,  in  fact,  supports 
and  advocates  many  and  large  schemes  of  this  char- 
acter. 

A man  of  whom  all  this  could  be  said  might,  in 
strict  justice,  be  termed  a Socialist.  The  extreme 
Socialist  is  he  who  would  make  the  state  all  in  all,  in- 


54 


SOCIALISM. 


dividual  initiative  and  enterprise  disappearing  in  that 
engrossing  democracy  of  labor  to  which  he  aspires.  In 
his  view,  the  powers  and  rights  of  the  state  represent 
the  sum  of  all  the  powers  and  all  the  rights  of  the  in- 
dividuals who  compose  it ; and  government  becomes 
the  organ  of  society  in  respect  to  all  its  interests  and 
all  its  acts.  So  much  for  the  Socialist. 

Socialism,  under  our  definition,  would  be  a term 
properly  to  be  applied  — (1)  to  the  aggregate  of  many 
and  large  schemes  of  this  nature,  actually  urged  for 
present  or  early  adoption ; or  (2)  to  a programme  con- 
templated, at  whatever  distance,  for  the  gradual  re- 
placement of  private  or  public  activity ; or  (3)  to  an 
observed  movement  or  tender  cy,  of  a highly  marked 
character,  in  the  direction  indicated. 

Such  would  be  the  significance  properly  to  be  attri- 
buted to  the  terms  Socialist  and  Socialism,  consis- 
tently with  the  definition  proposed  to  be  given  to  the 
word  socialistic,  namely,  that  which  causes  government 
functions  to  transcend  the  line  of  the  strictly  police 
powers. 

Even  this  line  is  not  to  be  drawn  with  exactitude 
and  assurance,  though  it  is  much  more  plain  to  view 
than  either  of  the  other  two  lines  which,  we  said,  might 
be  taken  for  the  purposes  of  the  present  discussion. 
The  police  powers  embrace,  of  course,  all  that  is  nec- 
essary to  keep  people  from  picking  each  other’s  pockets 
and  cutting  each  other’s  throats,  including,  alike,  puni- 
tive and  preventive  measures.  They  embrace,  also, 
the  adjudication  and  collection  of  debts,  inasmuch  as, 
otherwise,  men  must  be  suffered  to  claim  and  seize 
their  own,  which  would  lead  to  incessant  breaches  of 
the  peace.  They  embrace,  also,  the  punishment  of 
slander  and  libel,  since,  otherwise,  individuals  must  be 


SOCIALISM. 


55 


left  to  vindicate  themselves  by  assault  or  homicide. 
Whether  we  will  or  no,  we  must  also  admit  the  war 
power  among  those  necessarily  inherent  in  govern- 
ment. 

Is  this  all  which  is  included  in  the  police  powers  ? 
There  are  several  other  functions  for  the  assumption 
of  which  by  the  state  the  preservation  of  life  and  lib- 
erty, the  protection  of  property,  and  the  prevention  of 
crime  are  either  cause  or  excuse. 

Foremost  among  these  is  the  care  and  maintenance 
of  religious  worship.  It  is  not  meant,  that  in  all  or 
most  countries  the  justification  for  the  exercise  of 
ghostly  functions  by  the  state  is  found  in  the  utility  of 
religious  observances  and  services  in  repressing  violence 
and  crime.  But  in  the  countries  farthest  advanced 
politically,  the  notion  that  the  ruler  has  any  divine 
commission  to  direct  or  sustain  religious  services  and 
observances  is  practically  obsolete ; and,  so  far  as  this 
function  is  still  performed,  it  is  covered  by  the  plea 
which  has  been  expressed.  Eminently  is  this  true  of 
France,  England,  and  the  United  States.  Few  publi- 
cists, in  these  countries,  would  presume  to  defend  the 
foundation  of  a state  religion,  de  novo , as  in  the  interest 
of  religion  itself.  So  far  as  the  maintenance  of  existing 
establishments  is  defended,  it  is  upon  the  ground  that 
violence,  disorder,  and  crime  are  thereby  diminished. 

Take  the  United  States,  for  instance,  where  the 
only  survival  of  a state  religion  is  found  in  the  exemp- 
tion of  ecclesiastical  property  from  taxation,  equivalent 
to  a subsidy  of  many  millions  annually.  Here  we  find 
this  policy  defended  on  the  ground  that  this  constitutes 
one  of  the  most  effective  means  at  the  command  of  the 
state  as  conservator  of  the  peace.  It  is  claimed  that 
the  services  of  this  agent  are  worth  to  government  more 


56 


SOCIALISM . 


than  the  taxes  which  the  treasury  might  otherwise  col- 
lect from  the  smaller  number  of  churches  and  missions 
which  would  survive  the  assessment  of  the  ordinary 
taxes ; and  that  the  remaining  taxpayers  really  pay 
less,  by  reason  of  the  reduction  in  violence  and  crime 
hereby  effected. 

Now,  in  so  far  as  this  plea  is  a genuine  one,  it  re- 
moves the  exemption  of  church  property  from  the  class 
of  socialistic  measures.  The  prevention  of  violence 
and  crime  is  the  proper  function  of  the  state,  accord- 
ing to  the  lowest  view  that  can  be  taken  of  it ; and  if 
a certain  amount  of  encouragement  and  assistance  is 
extended  to  religious  bodies  and  establishments  genu- 
inely in  this  interest,  no  invasion  of  individual  initia- 
tive and  enterprise  can  properly  be  complained  of. 

Another  and  apparently  a closely  related  instance  of 
the  extension  of  state  functions  is  found  in  the  pro- 
motion of  popular  education,  either  through  the  re- 
quirement of  the  attendance  of  pupils,  or  through  pro- 
visions for  the  public  support  of  schools,  or  through 
both  these  means. 

Now,  here  we  reach  an  instance  of  an  impulse  almost 
purely  socialistic  for  the  enlargement  of  the  functions 
of  the  state.  It  is  true  that  the  plea  of  a service  to 
government,  in  the  way  of  reducing  violence  and  crime 
through  the  influence  of  the  public  schools,  is  often 
urged  on  this  behalf  ; but  I,  for  one,  do  not  believe  that 
this  was  the  real  consideration  and  motive  which  in 
any  instance  ever  actually  led  to  the  establishment  of 
the  system  of  instruction  under  public  authority,  or 
which  in  any  land  supports  public  instruction  now. 
Indeed,  the  immediate  effects  of  popular  instruction  in 
reducing  crime  are  even  in  dispute. 

In  all  its  stages  this  movement  has  been  purely 


SOCIALISM ; 


57 


socialistic  in  character,  springing  out  of  a conviction 
that  the  state  would  be  stronger  and  the  individual 
members  of  the  state  would  be  richer  and  happier  and 
better  if  power  and  discretion  in  this  matter  of  the 
education  of  children  were  taken  away  from  the  family 
and  lodged  with  the  government. 

Of  course,  it  needs  not  to  be  said  that  this  is  a social- 
istic movement  which  deserves  the  heartiest  approval. 
Not  the  less  is  it  essentially  of  that  nature,  differing 
from  a hundred  other  proposed  acts  and  measures, 
which  we  should  all  reject  with  more  or  less  of  fear  or 
horror,  solely  by  reason  of  its  individual  merits  as  a 
scheme  for  accomplishing  good,  through  state  action, 
in  a field  properly  pertaining  to  individual  initiative 
and  enterprise. 

There  is  another  important  extension  of  state  func- 
tions, very  marked  in  recent  times,  for  which  a non- 
socialistic  excuse  might  be  trumped  up,  but  for  which 
the  real  reason  was  purely  and  simply  socialistic.  This 
is  the  construction  and  maintenance  of  bridges  and 
roads  at  the  public  expense  for  public  uses.  One 
might,  if  disposed  to  argue  uncandidly,  adduce  the 
military  services  rendered  by  the  great  Roman  roads  ; 
and,  thereupon,  might  pretend  to  believe  that  a corre- 
sponding motive  has  led  to  the  assumption  of  this  func- 
tion by  the  state  in  modern  times.  The  fact  is,  that 
until  within  seventy,  fifty,  or  thirty  years  the  bridges 
and  roads  of  England  and  America  remained,  to  an 
enormous  extent,  within  the  domain  of  individual  initia- 
tive and  enterprise.  Even  when  the  state  assumed 
the  responsibility,  it  was  a recognized  principle  that 
the  cost  of  construction  and  repair  should  be  repaid  by 
the  members  of  the  community  in  the  proportions  in 
which  they  severally  took  advantage  of  this  provision. 


58 


SOCIALISM. 


The  man  who  travelled  much,  paid  much ; the  man 
who  travelled  little,  paid  little ; the  man  who  stayed 
at  home,  paid  nothing. 

The  movement,  beginning  about  seventy  years  ago, 
which  has  resulted  in  making  free  nearly  all  roads  and 
bridges  in  the  most  progressive  countries,  was  purely 
socialistic.  It  did  not  even  seek  to  cover  itself  by 
claims  that  it  would  serve  the  police  powers  of  the 
state.  It  was  boldly  and  frankly  admitted  that  the 
change  from  private  to  public  management  and  main- 
tenance was  to  be  at  the  general  expense  for  the  gen- 
eral good. 

Is  there  any  other  function  arrogated  by  the  state 
which  may  be  claimed  to  be  covered  by  the  strict  police 
powers  ? I think  that  the  repression  of  obtrusive  im- 
morality — that  is,  immorality  of  a gross  nature  which 
obtrudes  itself  upon  the  unwilling  — may  reasonably 
be  classed  as  coming  within  the  minimum  of  govern- 
ment function.  Sights  and  sounds  may  constitute  an 
assault  as  well  as  blows ; and  it  falls  fairly  within  the 
right  and  duty  of  the  state  to  protect  the  citizens  from 
offences  of  this  nature. 

Have  we  now  exhausted  the  catalogue  of  things 
which  may  be  claimed  to  be  covered  by  the  police 
powers  of  the  state  ? I answer,  No.  One  of  the  most 
important  remains ; yet  one  of  the  last  — indeed  the 
very  latest  — to  be  recognized  as  possibly  belonging 
to  the  state  under  any  theory  of  government.  I re- 
fer to  what  is  embraced  under  the  term  sanitary  in- 
spection and  regulation. 

That  it  was  not  earlier  recognized  as  the  duty  of  the 
state  to  protect  the  common  air  and  the  common  water 
from  pollution  and  poisoning  was  due,  not  to  any  log- 
ical difficulty  or  to  any  troublesome  theory  regarding 


SOCIALISM. 


59 


governmental  action,  but  solely  to  the  fact  that  the 
chemistry  of  common  life  and  the  causation  of  zymotic 
diseases  were  of  such  late  discovery.  We  now  know 
that  there  is  a far  heavier  assault  than  can  be  made 
with  a bludgeon  ; and  that  men  may,  in  the  broad  day- 
light, deal  each  other  typhus,  diphtheria,  or  small-pox 
more  murderously  than  ever  a bravo  dealt  blows  with  a 
dagger  under  cover  of  darkness.  Yet,  so  much  more 
are  men  moved  by  tradition  than  by  reason  that  we 
find  intelligent  citizens,  who  have  swallowed  the  ex- 
emption of  five  hundred  millions  of  church  property 
from  taxation,  on  the  ground  that  a certain  quantum 
of  preaching  will  prevent  a certain  quantum  of  crime, 
have  very  serious  doubts  about  the  propriety  of  inspect- 
ing premises  which  can  be  smelled  for  half  a mile,  and 
whence  death  may  be  flowing  four  ways,  as  Pison, 
Gihon,  Hiddekel,  and  Euphrates  parted  from  Eden 
and  “ became  into  four  heads.” 

I do  not  mean  to  say  that  I should  hesitate  to  ap- 
prove of  sanitary  inspection  and  regulation,  carried  to 
their  extremes,  if  they  were  as  socialistic  as  anything 
ever  dreamed  of  by  Marx  or  Lassalle.  For  such  good 
as  I see  coming  from  this  source,  in  the  reduction  of 
vicious  instincts  and  appetites,  in  the  purification  of 
the  blood  of  the  race,  in  the  elimination  of  disease,  I 
would,  were  it  needful,  join  one  of  Fourier’s  “ phal- 
anxes,” go  to  the  barricades  with  Louis  Blanc,  or  be 
sworn  into  a nihilistic  circle.  But  in  correct  theory  it 
is  not  necessary  for  the  strictest  adherent  of  the  doc- 
trine of  limited  powers  to  desert  his  principles  in 
this  matter.  The  protection  of  the  common  air  and 
the  common  water  comes  within  the  police  powers  of 
the  state  by  no  forced  construction,  by  no  doubtful 
analogy. 


60 


SOCIALISM ; 


Is  there  any  important  function  remaining  which 
may  properly  be  classed  among  the  purely  police 
powers  ? I think  not.  Does  some  one  say,  you  have 
not  mentioned  the  care  and  support  of  the  helpless 
poor?  The  experience  of  the  Romans,  and  even  the 
condition  of  the  law  of  almost  all  countries  of  Europe 
in  modern  times,  proves  that  this  is  not  one  of  the 
necessary  functions  of  a well-ordered  state. 

Is  it  said  that  Christian  morality  will  not  permit 
that  the  helpless  poor  shall  suffer  or,  perhaps,  starve  ? 
Whenever  the  state  shall  undertake  to  do  all  or  any 
very  considerable  part  of  what  Christian  morality  re- 
quires, it  will  become  very  socialistic  indeed. 

Having  now  beaten  the  bounds  of  the  police  powers, 
and  having  decided  that  all  extension  of  government 
activity  beyond  those  bounds  is  to  be  held  and  deemed 
socialistic,  it  is  proposed  to  offer  certain  distinctions 
which  appear  important. 

And,  first,  a measure  is  not  necessarily  of  a strong 
socialistic  savor  merely  because  it  implies  a large,  per- 
haps a vast,  extension  of  the  actual  work  of  the  state. 
Take,  for  example,  the  English  government’s  acquisi- 
tion of  the  telegraph  lines,  and  its  performance  of  the 
work  connected  therewith.  This  was  not  done  under 
a socialistic  impulse.  In  England  the  telegraph  ser- 
vice has  always  been  closely  affiliated  in  the  public 
mind  with  the  postal  service  ; and,  consequently,  when 
the  former  had  come  to  be  of  sufficiently  wide  and  gen- 
eral use  to  make  it  worth  while  for  the  state  to  assume 
the  charge,  it  was  done  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way. 
It  was  no  more  socialistic  than  the  addition  of  a few 
thousands  of  new  post-offices  to  the  existing  number 
would  have  been. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  assumption  of  a new  service 


SOCIALISM. 


61 


by  the  state  is  not  relieved  from  the  charge  of  being 
socialistic,  even  grossly  socialistic,  by  the  fact  that 
such  a service  is  closely  analogous  to  some  other  which 
all  citizens  have  long  agreed  to  place  in  the  hands  of 
government.  Take,  for  example,  the  matter  of  “ free 
ferries,”  which  has  been  mooted  in  Boston  and  in  New 
York,  and  doubtless  elsewhere.  This  proposition  has 
always  been  greeted  by  conservative  men  of  all  parties 
as  highly  and  dangerously  socialistic ; and  yet  the 
analogy  between  free  ferries  and  bridges  free  from  toll 
is  very  strong.  A ferry-boat  is  little  other  than  a sec- 
tion of  a bridge,  cut  away  from  moorings,  and  propelled 
backward  and  forward  by  steam ; and  it  may  conceiv- 
ably cost  less  and  create  less  disturbance  to  navigation 
to  use  the  latter  than  the  former  means.  For  instance, 
it  might  cost  two  millions  of  dollars  to  throw  an  ade- 
quate bridge  from  Boston  to  East  Boston,  for  the  tran- 
sit of  passengers  and  freight.  But  suppose  the  point 
is  raised  that  the  bridge  will  interfere  continually  with 
the  use  of  the  harbor,  to  an  extent  involving  immense 
losses  to  trade,  and  that  the  amount  proposed  to  be 
expended  upon  the  bridge  would  pay  for  the  construc- 
tion and  operation  of  a line  of  ferry-boats.  Is  not  the 
analogy  close  ? And  yet  I agree  with  the  objectors  in 
this  case,  that  the  establishment  of  free  ferries  would 
be  a long  and  dangerous  step  toward  Socialism. 

Even  where  the  new  function  appears  to  be  only  the 
logical  carrying  out  and  legitimate  consequence  of  an- 
other function  well  approved,  there  may  be  a step  to- 
ward Socialism  involved  in  such  an  extension  of  the 
state’s  activity  and  responsibility. 

In  illustration,  I might  mention  the  matter  of  free 
text-books  in  our  public  schools.  Public  provision  for 
gratuitous  elementary  education,  although  manifestly 


62 


SOCIALISM. 


socialistic  within  our  meaning  of  that  term,  has  come 
to  be  fully  accepted  by  nearly  all  citizens  as  right  and 
desirable.  In  discharging  this  duty,  the  state,  at  im- 
mense expense,  builds  and  furnishes  school-houses,  em- 
ploys teachers  and  superintendents,  buys  supplies,  and 
gives  each  boy  or  girl  the  use  of  a desk.  Yet  the  pro- 
position to  make  the  use  of  text-books  free,  has  met 
with  violent  opposition ; has  been  defeated  at  many 
points  ; and  wherever  it  has  been  carried,  is  still  re- 
garded by  many  judicious  persons  as  a very  dangerous 
innovation.  Yet,  as  has  been  shown,  this  measure 
seems  to  be  but  the  logical  carrying  out  and  legitimate 
consequence  of  a function  already  assumed  by  practi- 
cally unanimous  consent. 

Still  another  distinction  has  become  necessary  of  re- 
cent years,  and  that  is  between  the  assumption  by  the 
state  of  functions  which  would  otherwise  be  performed 
wholly  or  mainly  by  individuals,  and  those  which  would 
otherwise  be  performed  wholly  or  mainly  by  corpora- 
tions. We  shall  have  occasion  hereafter  to  speak  of 
the  relation  of  the  state  to  the  corporation. 

One  further  distinction  it  may  be  well  to  suggest  — 
namely,  that  the  vast  importance,  even  the  absolutely 
vital  necessity,  of  a service,  whether  to  the  community 
at  large  or  to  the  subsisting  form  of  government,  does 
not,  by  itself,  constitute  a reason  for  the  performance 
of  that  function  by  the  state.  Let  me  illustrate.  In 
his  address,  as  President  of  the  Association  for  the 
Advancement  of  Science,  at  Aberdeen,  in  1859,  Prince 
Albert  said : 44  The  state  should  recognize  in  science 
one  of  the  elements  of  its  strength  and  prosperity,  to 
foster  which  the  clearest  dictates  of  self-interest  de- 
mand.” Last  year,  Sir  Lyon  Playfair,  in  his  address 
as  President  of  the  Association,  quotes  these  words, 


SOCIALISM. 


63 


and  enforces  the  same  thought.  Yet  it  does  not  follow, 
from  the  importance  of  science  to  the  state,  that  science 
should  be  directly  fostered  or  supported  by  govern- 
ment. It  might  conceivably  be  that  science  would  do 
its  work  for  the  state  better  if  the  state  itself  did 
nothing  for  science,  just  as  many  persons  who  hold 
that  religion  is  essential,  not  only  to  the  peace  and 
happiness  of  communities,  but  even  to  the  existence  of 
well-ordered  governments,  yet  hold  that  the  state  can 
do  nothing  so  beneficial  to  religion  as  to  let  it  com- 
pletely and  severely  alone. 

Still  another  class  of  considerations  must  be  borne 
in  mind  in  measuring  the  extent  of  the  socialistic  ad- 
vance involved  in  any  given  extension  of  the  functions 
of  government.  These  are  considerations  which  arise 
out  of  the  peculiar  genius  of  a people,  politically,  soci- 
ally, industrially.  A certain  act  or  measure  which 
would  be  a monstrous  invasion  of  personal  liberty  and 
individual  activity  in  one  country  would  be  the  merest 
matter  of  course  in  another.  The  natural  aptitudes, 
the  prevailing  sentiments,  the  institutions,  great  and 
small,  the  political  and  economic  history  of  a nation, 
have  all  to  be  taken  into  account  in  deciding  how  far 
an  extension  of  the  powers  of  government  in  a given 
direction  indicates  socialistic  progress. 

Yet,  while  this  is  true,  there  will  be  observed  some 
very  strange  contradictions  in  the  adoption,  in  certain 
countries,  of  principles  of  legislation  and  administra- 
tion which  cross,  in  an  unaccountable  way,  the  general 
spirit  of  their  people. 

Thus  England,  whose  population  is  decidedly  the 
most  strongly  anti-socialistic  in  the  world,  was  for  hun- 
dreds of  years  the  only  country  in  Europe  in  which 
was  formally  acknowledged  the  right,  the  complete 


64 


SOCIALISM. 


legal  right,  of  any  and  every  man  to  be  supported  by 
the  state  if  he  could  not,  or  did  not,  find  the  means  of 
his  own  subsistence. 

From  the  foregoing  definition  and  distinctions  let 
us  proceed  briefly  to  characterize  certain  measures  of 
a socialistic  nature  proposed  or  advocated  by  men  who 
are  not  Socialists ; who  neither  avow  nor  would  admit 
themselves  to  be  such ; who,  accepting,  on  the  whole, 
the  sufficiency  of  individual  initiative  and  enterprise 
to  achieve  the  good  of  society,  have  yet  their  scheme, 
or  budget  of  schemes,  for  the  general  welfare,  which 
would  operate  by  restricting  personal  liberty  and  by 
substituting  public  for  private  activity.  Time  would 
not  serve  to  canvass  the  merits  or  defects  of  these 
schemes  as  measures  for  accomplishing  certain  specific 
social  objects.  We  can  only  dwell  upon  each,  in  turn, 
long  enough  to  indicate  its  individual  character  as  more 
or  less  socialistic. 

1st.  The  most  familiar  of  schemes  for  promoting  the 
general  welfare,  by  diminishing  the  scope  of  individual 
initiative  and  enterprise,  is  that  known  by  the  name  of 
protection  to  local  or,  as  it  is  in  any  locality  called, 
native  industry. 

Protectionism  is  nothing  if  not  socialistic.  It  pro- 
poses, in  the  public  interest,  to  modify  the  natural 
course  of  trade  and  production,  and  to  do  this  by  de- 
priving the  citizen  of  his  privilege  of  buying  in  the 
cheapest  market.  Yet  the  protectionist  is  not,  there- 
fore, to  be  called  a Socialist,  since  the  Socialist  would 
not  only  have  the  state  determine  what  shall  be  pro- 
duced, but  he  would  have  the  state  itself  undertake 
the  work  of  production.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  dis- 
cuss protection  as  a scheme  for  accomplishing  its  pro- 
fessed object.  Indeed,  I should  have  had  occasion  to 


SOCIALISM. 


65 


bestow  upon  it  but  a single  word,  merely  to  character- 
ize it  as  a socialistic  measure,  were  it  not  for  the  con- 
viction that  the  forces  of  the  age  are  tending  strongly 
in  this  direction.  In  my  judgment  we  are  on  the  eve 
of  a great  protectionist  agitation. 

And  the  demand  for  the  so-called  protection  of  native 
industry  is  to  be  a popular  one,  in  a degree  never  be- 
fore known.  In  England  the  restrictive  system  of  the 
earlier  period  had  been  imposed  by  privileged  classes, 
and  was  broken  down  by  a truly  popular  uprising.  In 
the  United  States  the  history  of  the  restrictive  system 
has  been  different.  My  esteemed  friend,  Professor 
Sumner,  took  the  platform,  three  years  ago,  with  the 
avowed  purpose  of  attacking  protectionism,  no  longer 
as  inexpedient,  but  as  immoral ; and  he  proceeded, 
with  a vigor  which  no  other  writer  or  speaker  on  ap- 
plied economics  in  this  country  has  at  command,  to 
stigmatize  the  forces  which  have  initiated  and  directed 
our  tariff  legislation  as  all  selfish  and  false  and  bad. 
Now,  I can’t  go  with  Professor  Sumner  in  this.  Fully 
recognizing  that  our  successive  tariffs  have  largely 
been  shaped  by  class  or  sectional  interests,  with,  at 
times,  an  obtrusion  of  mean  motives  which  were  simply 
disgusting,  as  in  1828,  I am  yet  constrained  to  believe 
that  the  main  force  which  has  impelled  Congress  to 
tariff  legislation  has  been  a sincere,  if  mistaken,  con- 
viction that  the  general  good  would  thereby  be  pro- 
moted. Yet,  after  all,  it  has  been  the  employing,  not 
the  laboring,  class  which  has  conducted  the  legislation, 
maintained  the  correspondence,  set  up  the  newspapers, 
paid  the  lobby,  in  the  tariff  contests  of  the  past. 

The  peculiarity  of  the  new  movement  is,  that  it  is  to 
owe  its  initiative  and  its  main  impulse  to  the  laboring 
class. 


5 


66 


SOCIALISM . 


What  strikes  me  as  most  important,  with  regard  to 
the  future,  is  the  consideration  that,  while  protection- 
ism is  to  become  a dogma  and  a fighting  demand  of 
the  out-and-out  Socialists  everywhere,  it  would  be  in  a 
consummated  system  of  protection  that  the  rampant, 
aggressive,  and  destructive  Socialism,  which  is  such  an 
object  of  terror  to  many  minds,  would  find  an  insur- 
mountable barrier.  Socialism  can  never  be  all  we 
dread  unless  it  become  international ; but  the  consum- 
mation of  protectionism  is  the  destruction  of  interna- 
tionalism. 

2d.  Another  threatened  invasion  of  the  field  of  in- 
dustrial initiative  and  enterprise  is  through  laws  affect- 
ing labor,  additional  to  the  body  of  factory  legislation 
now  generally  accepted. 

There  is  not  a feature  in  the  existing  body  of  factory 
legislation  in  England  which  owes  its  introduction  to 
political  forces  set  in  motion  by  mill  and  factory  oper- 
atives. Even  in  the  United  States,  except  solely  in 
the  instance  of  that  piece  of  wretched  demagogism 
known  as  the  Eight  Hour  Law,  passed  by  Congress 
without  any  intention  that  it  should  be  enforced,  our 
labor  legislation  has  not,  in  general,  been  due  to  the 
efforts  of  the  operative  classes  as  such,  but  to  the  gen- 
eral conviction  of  the  public  mind  that  so  much,  at 
least,  was  fair  and  just  and  wise.  The  labor  legisla- 
tion now  impending  is  not  intended  to  abide  the  de- 
cision of  an  impartial  jury.  It  is  asserted  by  those  who 
claim  especially  to  represent  the  interests  of  labor,  that 
their  class  are  about  to  undertake  to  carry,  by  sheer 
weight  of  numbers,  measures  to  few  of  which  could 
they  hope  to  obtain  the  assent  of  the  disinterested  por- 
tion of  the  community. 

Surely,  we  have  here  a very  grave  situation.  It  may 


SOCIALISM. 


67 


be  that  the  power  of  wealth  and  trained  intellect,  su- 
perior dialectical  ability,  the  force  of  political  and  par- 
liamentary tactics,  with  the  conservative  influence  of 
the  agricultural  interest,  would,  in  any  case,  defeat 
legislation  hostile  to  the  so-called  interests  of  capital. 
Doubtless,  too,  we  of  the  class  who  are  disposed  to 
maintain  the  status  underrate  the  moderation,  self-con- 
trol, and  fairness  likely  to  be  exercised  by  the  body  of 
laborers.  Yet  it  is  not  easy  to  rid  one’s  self  of  the  ap- 
prehension that  this  new  species  of  socialistic  legislation 
will  be  carried  so  far,  at  least  under  the  first  enthusi- 
asm of  newly  acquired  power,  as  seriously  to  cripple 
the  industrial  system.  He  must  be  a confirmed  pessi- 
mist who  doubts  that,  sooner  or  later,  after  however 
much  of  misadventure  and  disaster,  a modus  vivendi 
will  be  established,  which  will  allow  the  employing 
class  to  reassume  and  reassert  something  like  their 
pristine  authority  over  production  — unless,  indeed, 
this  harassment  of  the  employer  is  to  be  used  as  a 
means  of  bringing  in  the  regime  of  cooperation,  so 
ardently  desired  by  many  economists  and  philanthro- 
pists as  the  ideal  industrial  system. 

If  this  is  to  be  so,  there  will  not  be  lacking  a flavor 
of  poetic  justice,  so  far  as  the  American  manufacturer 
is  concerned. 

The  advocate  of  cooperation,  appealing  to  the  ad- 
mittedly vast  advantages  which  would  attend  the  suc- 
cessful establishment  of  the  scheme  of  industrial 
partnership,  might  say  that  thus  far  cooperative  enter- 
prises have  not  succeeded  because,  with  small  means, 
they  have  had  their  experiments  to  make,  their  men 
to  test  and  to  train,  their  system  to  create.  Let  us, 
he  would  continue,  handicap  the  long-established, 
highly  organized,  well-officered,  rich  and  powerful  en - 


68 


SOCIALISM. 


trepreneur  system,  so  that  vast  bodies  of  goods,  made 
with  the  highest  advantages  from  wealth,  capital,  and 
organization,  may  not  be  poured  out  upon  the  market 
in  floods,  to  sweep  away  the  feeble  structures  of  newly 
undertaken  cooperative  enterprises.  Let  the  com- 
munity consent,  for  the  general  good,  to  pay  a some- 
what higher  price,  as  the  consideration  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  a system  which  will,  in  the  result,  not  only 
secure  a larger  creation  of  wealth,  but  will  settle  the 
questions  of  distribution,  promote  good  citizenship,  and 
forever  banish  the  spectre  of  Socialism  from  the  world ! 

3d.  Other  measures  of  a socialistic  nature,  strongly 
urged  at  the  present  time,  have  in  view  the  control  by 
government  of  the  ways  and  agencies  of  transportation 
and  communication.  All  over  Europe  the  telegraph 
service  has  been  assumed  by  the  state  ; and,  to  a large 
extent,  the  railroads  also  have  come  under  government 
ownership  or  management.  In  some  degree  this  has 
been  due  to  the  suggestions  and  promptings  of  mili- 
tary ambition,  but  in  a larger  degree,  probably,  it  ex- 
presses the  conviction  that  all  railroad  service  “ tends 
to  monopoly  ; ” and  that,  therefore,  alike  fiscal  and 
military  reasons  and  the  general  interest  unite  in  dic- 
tating that  the  monopolists  shall  be  the  state. 

On  the  Continent  of  Europe  the  state’s  acquisition 
of  these  agencies  of  transport,  so  far  as  it  has  gone,  has 
not  been  due  to  popular  impulse  ; the  management  of 
the  roads  so  acquired  has  suited  well  the  bureaucratic 
form  of  government,  while  the  thoroughness  and  effi- 
ciency of  the  civil  service  has,  in  the  main,  secured 
good  administration. 

Here  or  in  England,  on  the  other  hand,  such  an  ex- 
tension of  the  powers  of  the  state  would  have  a very 
different  significance,  a significance  most  portentous 


SOCIALISM. 


69 


and  threatening ; while  even  the  regulation  of  railroad 
management,  except  through  the  establishment  of  effec- 
tive and  summary  tribunals  for  the  correction  of  mani- 
fest and  almost  uncontested  abuses,  would,  according 
to  my  individual  judgment,  be  highly  prejudicial,  and 
even  pernicious,  upon  anything  resembling  our  present 
political  system. 

4th.  Still  another  suggestive  enlargement  of  public 
activity  is  in  the  direction  of  exercising  an  especial 
oversight  and  control  over  industrial  corporations,  as 
such. 

The  economic  character  of  the  industrial  corporation 
very  much  needs  analysis  and  elucidation.  A work  on 
this  subject  is  a desideratum  in  political  economy.  So 
little  has  the  economic  character  of  this  agent  been 
dwelt  upon,  that  we  find  reviews  and  journals  of  pre- 
tension, and  professional  economists  in  college  chairs, 
speaking  of  legislation  in  regulation  of  such  bodies  as 
in  violation  of  the  principle  of  laissez  faire . But  the 
very  institution  of  the  industrial  corporation  is  for  the 
purpose  of  avoiding  that  primary  condition  upon  which 
alone  true  and  effective  competition  can  exist. 

Perfect  competition,  in  the  sense  of  the  economist, 
assumes  that  every  person,  in  his  place  in  the  indus- 
trial order,  acts  by  himself,  for  himself,  alone ; that 
whatever  he  does  is  done  on  his  own  instance,  for  his 
own  interest.  Combination,  concert,  cohesion,  act  di- 
rectly in  contravention  of  competition. 

Now,  combination  will  enter,  more  or  less,  to  affect 
the  actions  of  men  in  respect  to  wealth.  But  such 
combinations  are  always  subject  to  dissolution,  by 
reason  of  antagonisms  developed,  suspicions  aroused, 
separate  interests  appearing;  and  the  expectation  of 
such  dissolution  attaches  to  them  from  their  formation. 


70 


SOCIALISM. 


The  cohesion  excited,  as  between  the  particles  of  the 
economic  mass  which  the  theory  of  competition  as- 
sumes to  be  absolutely  free  from  affiliations  and  at- 
tractions, is  certain  to  be  shifting  and  transitory.  The 
corporation,  on  the  other  hand,  implies  the  imposition 
of  a common  rule  upon  a mass  of  capital  which  would 
otherwise  be  in  many  hands,  subject  to  the  impulses  of 
individual  owners.  But  it  is  because  the  hand  into 
which  these  masses  of  capital  are  gathered  is  a dead 
hand  that  the  deepest  injury  is  wrought  to  competition. 

The  greatest  fact  in  regard  to  human  effort  and  en- 
terprise is  the  constant  imminence  of  disability  and 
death.  So  great  is  the  importance  of  this  condition, 
that  it  goes  far  to  bring  all  men  to  a level  in  their  ac- 
tions as  industrial  agents.  The  man  of  immense  wealth 
has  no  such  superiority  over  the  man  of  moderate  for- 
tune as  would  be  indicated  by  the  proportion  of  their 
respective  possessions.  To  these  unequals  is  to  be 
added  one  vast  common  sum,  which  mightily  reduces 
the  ratio  of  that  inequality.  The  railroad  magnate, 
master  of  a hundred  millions,  leaning  forward  in  his 
“eagerness  to  complete  some  new  combination,  falls  with- 
out a sign,  without  a groan ; his  work  forever  incom- 
plete ; his  schemes  rudely  broken ; and  at  once  the 
fountain  of  his  great  fortune  parts  into  many  heads, 
and  his  gathered  wealth  flows  away  in  numerous 
streams.  No  man  can  buy  with  money,  or  obtain  for 
love,  the  assurance  of  one  hour’s  persistence  in  his 
chosen  work,  in  his  dearest  purpose.  Here  enters  the 
state  and  creates  an  artificial  person,  whose  powers  do 
not  decay  with  years ; whose  hand  never  shakes  with 
palsy,  never  grows  senseless  and  still  in  death  ; whose 
estate  is  never  to  be  distributed  ; whose  plans  can  be 
pursued  through  successive  generations  of  mortal  men. 


SOCIALISM. 


71 


I do  not  say  that  the  services  which  corporations 
render  do  not  afford  an  ample  justification  for  this  in- 
vasion of  the  field  of  private  activity.  I am  far  from 
saying  that,  whatever  injuries  one  might  be  disposed  to 
attribute  to  the  unequal  competition  between  natural 
and  artificial  persons,  thus  engendered,  the  evil  would 
be  cured  by  state  regulation  and  control.  Government 
will  never  accomplish  more  than  a part  of  the  good  it 
intends ; and  it  will  always,  by  its  intervention,  do  a 
mischief  which  it  does  not  intend.  My  sole  object  is 
to  point  out  how  deeply  the  industrial  corporation  vio- 
lates the  principle  of  competition,  and  how  absurd  it  is 
to  claim  for  it  the  protection  of  laissez  faire. 

5th.  Another  direction  in  which  progress  toward 
Socialism  has  been  made,  of  late  years,  is  in  respect  to 
the  housing  of  the  poor.  In  the  first  instance,  and 
this  was  but  a few  years  ago,  the  measures  proposed  to 
this  end  were  covered  by  a plea  which  veiled  its  so- 
cialistic character.  Here,  it  was  said,  is  a railway  en- 
tering a city.  By  authority  of  law  it  blazes  its  way 
over  the  ruins  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  working- 
men’s houses.  At  least  let  the  government  repair  the 
wrong  it  has  done  ! Let  it  put  the  working-men  where 
they  were  before  this  exertion  of  authority ! In  like 
manner  parks  are  created  for  the  public  good,  narrow 
streets  are  widened  into  magnificent  boulevards,  al- 
ways through  the  destruction  of  hundreds  of  humble 
homes.  In  like  manner,  again,  the  state,  in  a proper 
care  for  the  life  or  health  of  its  citizens,  condemns 
certain  dwellings  as  unsanitary,  and  orders  them  torn 
down.  But  what  of  the  men,  the  women,  and  the  chil- 
dren, who,  with  their  scanty  furniture  and  ragged 
bundles,  crouch  homeless  on  the  sidewalk  as  the  officers 
of  the  law  do  their  work  ? 


72 


SOCIALISM . 


/ 


But  the  demand  for  the  exertion  of  the  powers  and 
resources  of  the  state  in  the  housing  of  the  poor  has 
not  stopped  upon  this  initial  line.  The  views  of  many 
persons  of  high  intelligence,  in  no  way  Socialists,  have 
advanced,  during  a few  years  of  discussion,  to  the  con- 
viction that  the  state  has  a large  and  positive  part  to 
perform  in  respect  to  the  habitation  of  its  citizens. 
It  is  not  in  contemplation  that  the  state  shall  build 
all  the  houses  in  the  land ; nor,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
provision  for  the  pauper  class  at  all  in  view.  What  is 
intended  is,  that  the  state  shall  set  the  standard  for 
the  minimum  of  house  accommodation  which  is  consis- 
tent with  health  and  decency ; building  houses  enough 
to  provide,  in  the  simplest  and  cheapest  manner,  for 
all  who  cannot  do  better  for  themselves  elsewhere; 
and  thereafter  to  wage  relentless  war  on  all  “ shan- 
ties,” “ rookeries,”  and  “ beehives  ” used  for  human 
habitation,  to  pull  down  all  that  stand,  and  to  prevent 
the  erection  of  any  resembling  them  in  the  future. 

Of  course,  the  virtue  of  this  scheme,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  any  one,  however  favorably  disposed,  who 
is  not  a professed  Socialist,  would  depend  on  the  sim- 
plicity and  sincerity  with  which  the  principle  of  the 
minimum  of  accommodation  was  adhered  to.  The 
moment  the  state  began  building  houses  for  any  one 
above  the  poorest  of  self-supporting  workmen,  it  would 
not  only  double  and  quadruple  the  certain  cost  and 
the  liability  to  evil  consequences,  but  it  would  be  tak- 
ing a monstrous  step  toward  Socialism.  In  under- 
taking such  a scheme  a state  would,  in  effect,  say, 
There  is  a class  of  our  citizens  who  are  just  on  the 
verge  of  self-support.  The  members  of  this  class  are, 
in  the  matter  of  house  accommodation,  almost  abso- 
lutely helpless  ; they  must  take  what  they  can  find ; 


SOCIALISM. 


73 


they  cannot  build  their  own  houses ; they  cannot  go 
out  in  the  country  to  make  their  home  — that  is  re- 
served for  the  fortunate  of  their  class ; they  cannot 
protest  effectually  against  foul  and  dangerous  condi- 
tions. Nay,  the  miserable  liability  is,  that  they  should, 
after  being  crowded  down  into  the  mire  of  life,  be- 
come indifferent  to  such  conditions  themselves,  ready, 
perhaps,  to  join  the  mob  that  pelts  the  health-officer 
on  his  rounds. 

In  regard  to  this  class  the  state  may  proceed  to  say 
that  neither  Christian  charity  nor  the  public  interest 
will  tolerate  the  continuance  of  the  utterly  hideous 
and  loathsome  condition  of  things  which  disfigures 
the  face  of  civilization.  The  rookeries  shall  be  pulled 
down,  the  slums  shall  be  cleaned  out,  once  and  for- 
ever. For  the  pauper  there  shall  be  a cot  in  the 
wards  of  the  workhouse,  with  confinement  for  all,  sep- 
aration of  sexes,  and  compulsory  labor  for  the  able- 
bodied.  For  every  man  who  is  trying  to  earn  his 
living  there  shall  be  an  apartment  at  a very  low  rent, 
graded  to  correspond  with  the  lowest  of  private  rents, 
in  buildings  owned  by  the  state,  or  built  and  used 
under  state  inspection  and  control.  Lower  than  this 
the  man  shall  not  go,  until  he  passes  into  the  wards  of 
the  workhouse.  He  may  do  what  he  pleases  in  re- 
spect to  his  clothes,  his  food,  his  drink ; but  in  this 
matter  of  habitation  he  shall  live  up  to  the  standard 
set  by  the  state.  He  shall  not  make  the  home  of  his 
family  a hot-bed  for  scarlet-fever  and  diphtheria ; he 
shall  not,  even  if  he  likes  it,  live  in  quarters  where 
cleanliness  and  decency  would  be  impossible. 

Regarding  this  scheme  I have  only  to  say,  that  if 
we  are  not  disposed  to  look  favorably  on  a proposition 
that  the  state  should  undertake  an  enterprise  so  new 


74 


SOCIALISM . 


and  large  and  foreign  to  our  political  habits  (and  I 
sincerely  trust  no  American  would  be  disposed  to  favor 
it),  let  us  not  shelter  ourselves  behind  the  miserable 
mockery  of  the  Economic  Harmonies,  as  applied  to 
the  very  poor  of  our  large  cities.  To  assert  a commu- 
nity of  interest  between  the  proprietor  of  a rookery, 
reeking  with  every  species  of  foulness,  and  the  hun- 
dreds of  human  animals,  who  curl  themselves  up  to 
sleep  in  its  dark  corners,  amid  its  foul  odors,  is  to 
utter  a falsehood  so  ghastly,  at  once,  and  so  grotesque, 
as  to  demand  both  indignation  and  ridicule. 

6th.  The  last  of  the  socialistic  measures  to  which  I 
shall  advert  is  the  proposal  for  the  nationalization  of 
the  land. 

Now,  I think  I hear  one  half  my  readers  exclaim : 
“ The  nationalization  of  the  land ! Surely,  that  is 
Communism,  and  Communism  of  the  rankest  sort,  and 
not  Socialism  at  all ! ” while  the  other  half  say : “ So- 
cialistic indeed  ! W ell,  if  the  man  who  advocates  the 
nationalization  of  the  land  is  not  to  be  called  a Social- 
ist out  and  out,  whom  shall  we  call  Socialists  ? ” To 
these  imagined  expressions  of  dissent  I reply,  that  the 
project  for  the  nationalization  of  the  land,  as  explained 
by  J ohn  Stuart  Mill,  for  example,  has  not  the  faintest 
trace  of  a communistic  savor ; and  secondly,  while  it 
is  highly  socialistic,  the  man  who  advocates  it  is  not  for 
that  reason  alone  to  be  classed  as  a Socialist,  since  he 
may  be  one  who,  in  all  other  respects,  holds  fully  and 
strongly  to  individual  initiative  enterprise  in  industry. 
He  might,  conceivably,  be  so  strenuous  an  advocate 
of  laissez  faire  1 as  to  oppose  factory  acts,  public  edu- 
cation, special  immunities  and  privileges  to  savings 

1 The  name  of  Mr.  Henry  George  appears  on  the  lists  of  the  New 
York  Free  Trade  Club. 


SOCIALISM.  75 

banks,  or  even  free  roads  and  bridges,  as  too  socialistic 
for  his  taste. 

There  is  a substantially  unanimous  consent  among 
all  publicists,1  that  property  in  land  stands  upon  a 
very  different  basis  from  property  in  the  products  of 
labor. 

Nothing  has  ever  been  adduced  to  break  the  force 
of  Mr.  Mill’s  demonstration  that  a continually  increas- 
ing value,  in  any  progressive  state,  is  given  to  the  land 
through  the  exertions  and  sacrifices  of  the  community 
as  a whole. 

If  private  property  in  land  has  been  created  and 
has  been  freed  from  the  obligation  to  contribute  that 
unearned  increment  to  the  treasury,  this  has  been 
done  solely  as  a matter  of  political  and  economic  ex- 
pediency. The  man  who  proposes  that,  with  due  com- 
pensation for  existing  rights,  all  future  enhancement 
of  the  value  of  land,  not  due  to  distinct  applications 
of  labor  and  capital  in  its  improvement,  shall  go  to 
the  state,  by  such  fiscal  means  as  may  be  deemed  most 
advantageous  to  all  concerned,  is  not  to  be  called  a 
Communist.  He  only  claims  that  the  community  as  a 
whole  shall  possess  and  enjoy  that  which  the  commu- 
nity as  a whole  has  undeniably  created.  The  Com- 
munist is  a man  who  claims  that  the  community  shall 

1 “ Sustained  by  some  of  the  greatest  names  — I may  say,  of  every 
name  of  the  first  rank  in  political  economy,  from  Turgot  and  Adam 
Smith  to  Mill  — I hold  that  the  land  of  a country  presents  conditions 
which  separate  it  economically  from  the  great  mass  of  the  other  ob- 
jects of  wealth  — conditions  which,  if  they  do  not  absolutely,  and 
under  all  circumstances,  impose  upon  the  State  the  obligation  of  con- 
trolling private  enterprise  in  dealing  with  land,  at  least  explain  why 
this  control  is,  in  certain  stages  of  social  progress,  indispensable,  and 
why,  in  fact,  it  has  been  constantly  put  in  force  whenever  public 
opinion  or  custom  has  not  been  strong  enough  to  do  without  it.”  — 
Professor  John  E.  Cairnes. 


76 


SOCIALISM . 


/ 


possess  and  enjoy  that  which  individuals  have  cre- 
ated. 

So  far  as  England  and  the  United  States  are  con- 
cerned, the  project  for  the  nationalization  of  the  land, 
notwithstanding  the  tremendous  uproar  it  has  created, 
especially  in  the  former  country,  does  not  appear  to 
me  in  any  high  degree  formidable.  Doubtless  in 
England,  where  an  aristocratic  holding  of  the  land 
prevails,  this  agitation  will  induce  serious  efforts  to  cre- 
ate a peasant  proprietorship.  It  is,  also,  not  improb- 
able that  the  discussion  regarding  the  tenure  of  the 
soil  will  lead  to  additional  burdens  being  imposed  upon 
real  estate.  Yet  the  advantages  attending  upon  pri- 
vate ownership,  notwithstanding  the  admitted  fact 
that  the  system  sacrifices,  in  its  very  beginning,  the 
equities  of  the  subject  matter,  are  so  manifest,  so  con- 
spicuous, so  vast,  that  there  seems  little  danger  that 
the  schemes  of  Messrs.  Mill,  Wallace,  and  George 
will  ever  come  to  prevail  over  the  plain,  frank,  blunt 
common-sense  of  the  English  race. 

The  important  question  remains,  In  what  spirit  shall 
we  receive  and  consider  propositions  for  the  further 
extension  of  the  state’s  activity  ? 

Shall  we  antagonize  them  from  the  start,  as  a mat- 
ter of  course,  using  the  term  socialistic  freely  as  an 
objurgatory  epithet,  and  refusing  to  entertain  consid- 
eration of  the  special  reasons  of  any  case  ? 

When  we  consider  what  immense  advantages  have, 
in  some  cases,  resulted  from  measures  purely  socialis- 
tic, are  we  altogether  prepared  to  take  a position  of 
irreconcilable  and  undistinguishing  hostility  to  every 
future  extension  of  the  state’s  activity  ? May  we  not 
believe  that  there  is  a leadership  by  the  state,  in  cer- 
tain activities,  which  does  not  paralyze  private  effort ; 


SOCIALISM. 


77 


which  does  not  tend  to  go  from  less  to  more ; but 
which,  in  the  large,  the  long  result,  stimulates  indi- 
vidual action,  brings  out  energies  which  would  other- 
wise remain  dormant,  sets  a higher  standard  of  per- 
formance, and  introduces  new  and  stronger  motives 
to  social  and  industrial  progress  ? 

For  myself,  I will  only  say,  in  general,  that  while  I 
repudiate  the  assumption  of  the  economic  harmonies 
which  underlies  the  doctrine  of  laissez  faire , and 
while  I look  with  confidence  to  the  state  to  perform 
certain  important  functions  in  economics,  I believe 
that  every  proposition  for  enlarging  the  powers  and 
increasing  the  duties  of  the  state  should  be  long  and 
closely  scrutinized ; that  a heavy  burden  of  proof 
should  be  thrown  upon  the  advocates  of  every  such 
scheme ; and  that  for  no  slight,  or  transient,  or  doubt- 
ful object  should  the  field  of  industrial  activity  be 
trenched  upon  in  its  remotest  corner.  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  very  name  of  liberty  to  which  the  heart  of 
man  responds  ; freedom  itself  thus  becomes,  in  a cer- 
tain sense,  a force  ; and  those  who  thoroughly  believe 
in  individual  initiative  and  enterprise  are  the  best  and 
safest  judges  of  the  degree  to  which  restraint  may,  on 
account  of  the  imperfections  of  human  society  and  the 
hardness  of  men’s  hearts,  require,  in  any  given  time 
and  place,  to  be  imposed  upon  the  choices  and  actions 
of  citizens. 

That  enlarging  the  powers  of  government  at  any 
point  where,  after  due  deliberation,  it  abundantly  ap- 
pears that,  in  spite  of  the  reasonable  preference  for 
preserving  individual  activity,  a large  practical  gain 
to  the  order  of  society  and  the  happiness  of  its  con- 
stituent members  will,  in  the  long  result,  accrue  from 
the  interposition  of  the  state  ; that  dealing  thus  with 


78 


SOCIALISM. 


projects  of  social  and  economic  reform  will,  as  so 
many  seem  to  fear,  only  arouse  in  the  mass  of  the 
people  a passion  for  further  and  further  encroach- 
ments, and  push  society  more  and  more  rapidly  on  to- 
ward an  all-engrossing  Socialism,  — I do  not  believe. 
It  is  the  plea  of  despots  that  they  cannot  remit  impo- 
sitions, redress  wrongs,  or  promote  reforms,  without 
awakening  dangerous  aspirations  in  their  subjects  and 
provoking  them  to  ever-increasing  demands. 

To  no  such  slavish  dread  of  doing  right  are  free 
nations  subjected.  It  is  the  glorious  privilege  of  gov- 
ernments of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people, 
that  they  derive  only  strength  and  added  stability  from 
every  act  honestly  and  prudently  conceived  to  promote 
the  public  welfare.  In  such  a state  every  real  and 
serious  cause  of  complaint  which  is  removed  becomes 
a fresh  occasion  for  loyalty,  gratitude,  and  devotion. 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT  IN 
SCHOLARSHIP. 


“ What  I am,”  said  Sir  Humphrey  Davy,  “ I have 
made  myself.”  He  said  it  quietly,  when  he  was  the 
first  chemist  in  the  world.  Few  men  have  had  a bet- 
ter right  to  say  it.  Born  in  poverty,  taught  the  rudi- 
ments by  an  incompetent  teacher,  adopted  by  a family 
friend  at  the  age  of  nine,  attending  school  but  one 
year,  apparently  strongly  tempted  to  idleness  and  dis- 
sipation at  fifteen,  left  an  orphan  at  sixteen,  appren- 
ticed to  an  apothecary  at  seventeen,  pursuing  his 
experiments,  with  pots  and  pans  from  the  kitchen  and 
phials  from  the  shop,  and  a syringe  for  an  air-pump, 
in  the  garret  of  his  friend  and  patron,  who  yet  called 
him  an  “incorrigible  boy,”  “an  idle  dog,”  — he  had, 
by  his  incessant  toil  and  study,  self -prompted  and  self- 
sustained,  made  his  way  to  a position  and  reputation 
among  the  most  brilliant  in  the  history  of  experimental 
science. 

Such  a man  is  designated  a self-taught  man  ; and  a 
very  marked  distinction  is  commonly  made  between 
such  men  and  men  of  the  schools.  The  distinction  is 
convenient  as  matter  of  external  history.  But  it  is, 
after  all,  superficial.  The  self-taught  and  the  school- 
taught,  when  well  taught,  are  alike,  if  not  equally, 
self-educated. 


80 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


/ 


The  point  I wish  to  impress  to-night  is,  that  all 
highest  achievement  in  education  and  culture,  whether 
with  or  without  instructors,  must  be  essentially  self- 
moved.  It  must  spring  from  the  ardent  purpose  and 
energy  of  the  student  himself.  The  presence  of  in- 
structors and  appliances  is  a vast  advantage.  They 
can  interject  into  a non-receptive  youth  a very  con- 
siderable amount  of  useful  information  by  dint  of  in- 
cessant hammering  or  the  process  of  slow  absorption. 
But  such  a mechanical  process  never  makes  a scholar. 
And  one  is  ready  to  sympathize,  at  times,  with  the 
pointed  inquiry  of  an  anxious  parent,  What  is  the  use 
of  expending  five  thousand  dollars  on  the  education 
of  a five-dollar  boy  ? The  lack  of  these  facilities  is, 
on  the  other  hand,  a great  disadvantage  and  misfor- 
tune, — which,  however,  a goodly  number  have  found 
to  be  not  altogether  insuperable.  And,  whether  in 
school  or  out  of  school,  the  one  determining  factor  in 
the  career  of  scholarship  or  culture  is  the  spontaneous 
element,  the  impelling  force  within,  the  personal  ac- 
tivity of  the  student.  Whenever  or  wherever  the  time 
comes  to  throw  the  interest,  the  energy,  the  soul  into 
his  work,  then  and  there  is  the  dawn  of  all  successful 
achievement. 

The  times  and  occasions  of  such  an  awakening  are 
not  the  same  with  all  men.  When  it  shows  itself  ir- 
repressibly from  early  childhood,  as  in  Pascal  and 
Macaulay,  the  fruits  of  the  life-long  yearning  and 
striving  are  apt  to  be  proportionately  marked.  It  was 
in  the  lowest  place  in  the  lowest  form  but  one  of  a 
grammar-school  that  Newton,  kicked  by  a schoolmate, 
first  beat  him  in  a fight,  then  beat  him  in  study,  and 
rose  from  the  bottom  to  the  top.  Hugh  Miller’s  in- 
tense zeal  for  research  began  only  when,  to  his  lasting 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP. 


81 


regret,  his  school-days  were  ignominiously  ended  with 
a sound  drubbing  by  the  master.  Paley  was  in  his 
university  course  when  he  was  startled  from  his  list- 
lessness and  idleness  by  the  rough  address  of  a boon 
companion,  “ What  a fool  you  are,  Paley  ! ” With 
Dean  Swift  it  was  later  yet.  He  had  received  his 
university  degree,  but  only  by  “ special  favor,”  and 
was  twenty-seven  years  old  when  he  roused  himself, 
mentally  at  least,  to  begin  the  work  of  a hitherto 
wasted  life.  But  whenever  the  dormant  energy  is 
fairly  roused,  the  intellectual  destiny  is  decided.  For 
want  of  it,  how  many  a youth,  borne  on  the  topmost 
wave  of  privilege,  sinks  through  it  all  like  a stone  to 
the  bottom  ! Not  long  ago,  I read  with  the  deepest  in- 
terest the  true  story  of  what  was  called  a “ brown- 
stone  ” boy,  born  to  the  luxury  of  a palatial  home,  and 
ending  in  ignominy.  For  I said  to  myself,  That  is  the 
story  of  thousands  of  boys,  — not  of  one.  But  with 
that  inward  zeal,  how  many  have  pushed  their  way 
through  every  obstacle  to  eminent  success  ! 

Such  a zeal,  first  of  all,  inspires  the  courage  to  face 
the  difficulties  of  the  way.  For  very  many,  if  not 
most,  of  the  most  successful  men  have  forced  their  way 
through  great  discouragements.  This  is  certainly  true 
of  a large  proportion  of  the  best  young  men  in  the 
Institution  with  which  I am  connected.  It  has  always 
been  so.  I was  greatly  impressed,  not  long  since,  in 
reading  a correspondence  of  two  Dartmouth  students 
some  eighty  years  ago.  It  was  between  two  brothers 
who,  as  one  of  them  wrote,  had  “ aspirations  above 
their  condition.”  By  the  utmost  efforts  and  sacrifices 
the  one  had  entered  college,  partly  through  Phillips 
Academy,  had  graduated,  and  by  his  scanty  earnings 
was  aiding  the  other,  who,  with  still  more  distressing 


82 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


sacrifices,  was  struggling  on  in  his  Sophomore  year. 
On  the  6th  of  November  the  Sophomore  wrote  to  the 
graduate  : “ These  cold  frosty  mornings  very  sensibly 
inform  me  that  I want  a warm  great-coat.  I wish, 
Daniel,  that  it  might  be  convenient  to  send  on  cloth 
for  one.  I do  not  care  what  color  or  what  kind  of  cloth 
it  is ; anything  that  will  keep  the  frost  out.  Some 
kind  of  a shaggy  cloth,  I think,  would  be  cheapest. 
Deacon  Pettingill  has  offered  me  fourteen  dollars  a 
month  [for  teaching  school] . I believe  I shall  take  it. 
Money,  Daniel,  money.  . . • As  I was  walking  down  to 
the  office  after  a letter,  I happened  to  find  one  cent, 
which  is  the  only  money  I have  had  since  the  second 
day  after  I came  on.  It  is  a fact,  Dan,  that  I was 
called  on  for  a dollar  where  I owed  it,  and  borrowed 
it,  and  have  borrowed  it  four  times  since,  to  pay  those 
I borrowed  of.”  That  letter  must  have  been  met  on 
the  way  by  a letter  from  the  other,  reading  thus : 
“ Now,  Zeke,  you  will  not  read  half  a sentence,  no,  not 
one  syllable,  before  you  have  searched  this  sheet  for 
scrip ; but,  my  word  for  it,  you  will  find  no  scrip  here. 
We  held  a sanhedrim  this  morning  on  the  subject  of 
cash,  could  not  hit  on  any  way  to  get  you  any ; just 
before  we  went  away  to  hang  ourselves  through  disap- 
pointment, it  came  into  our  heads  that  next  week 
might  do.  ...  I have  now  by  me  two  cents  in  lawful 
federal  currency ; next  week  I will  send  them  if  they 
be  all;  they  will  buy  a pipe;  with  a pipe  you  can 
smoke  ; smoking  inspires  wisdom  ; wisdom  is  allied  to 
fortitude  ; from  fortitude  it  is  but  one  step  to  stoicism  ; 
and  stoicism  never  pants  for  this  world’s  goods ; so, 
perhaps,  my  two  cents  may  by  this  process  put  you 
quite  at  ease  about  cash.  Write  me  this  minute,  if 
you  can ; tell  me  all  about  your  necessities ; no,  not 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP.  83 

all,  a part  only,  and  anything  else  you  can  think  of  to 
amuse  me.”  And  their  whole  correspondence  is  sea- 
soned thick  with  similar  utterances  of  sore 
and  of  buoyant  hope.  Six  months  later  the  Sopho- 
more alludes  to  the  receipt  of  some  “ cash  ” that 
brought  him  a partial  relief,  and  adds  : “ You  hinted 
to  me  in  your  last,  that  I should  have  some  money 
soon.  The  very  suggestion  seemed  to  dispel  the  gloom 
that  was  thickening  around  me.  It  seemed  like  a 
momentary  flash  that  suddenly  bursts  through  a night 
of  clouds.”  Still,  a year  after  this,  we  find  the  strug- 
gling graduate  writing  a cheery  word  to  his  floundering 
brother : “ For  cash  I have  made  out.  Zeke,  I don’t 
believe  but  that  Providence  will  do  well  for  us  yet.” 
And  Providence  certainly  did  a good  thing  for  them 
both ; for  the  one  was  Ezekiel,  the  other  was  Daniel 
Webster.  Such  struggles  are  not  altogether  past.  I 
have  known  a young  man  to  enter  college  with  seven 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  in  his  pocket  as  the  sum 
total  of  his  worldly  possessions,  and  an  insatiable  love 
for  learning  in  his  heart.  I do  not  say  it  was  wise, 
for  it  was  almost  a desperate  venture,  and  I scarcely 
know  how  he  did  it.  I do  not  say  it  was  unwise.  For 
he  found  friends  and  help,  made  his  mark  in  college, 
and  will  make  his  mark  in  life.  It  shows  what  some- 
times can  be  done.  There  is  a marvellous  heroism  in 
many  a young  student  now. 

Such  a spirit  of  inborn  energy  gives  not  only  the 
courage,  but  the  power  to  surmount  obstacles.  It  is 
an  inestimable  blessing  to  have  high  educational  facil- 
ities, — instructors  and  opportunities.  Yet  these  alone 
carry  us  but  a little  way.  They  are  the  guides,  we 
are  the  travellers.  They  point  the  way,  we  do  the  run- 
ning, or  the  walking,  — or  the  stumbling.  Some  men’s 


84 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


hindrances  are  other  men’s  opportunities.  A prison 
is  a poor  school.  But  Bunyan  wrote  his  great  allegory 
in  Bedford  jail,  and  Napoleon  in  arrest  and  confine- 
ment, it  is  said,  so  mastered  the  Code  of  Justinian  as 
afterwards  to  astonish  his  lawyers.  A blacksmith’s 
shop  became  to  Burritt  the  starting-point  for  acquir- 
ing more  than  forty  languages,  and  a carpenter’s  shop 
the  school-room  in  which  Professor  Lee  learned  the 
Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew,  Chaldee,  Syriac,  and  Sama- 
ritan. 

But  under  the  best  instruction  this  inner  impulsive 
force  is  equally  needful.  Inevitably  much  of  the  ear- 
lier stages  of  all  knowledge  is  jejune  and  hard.  “ The 
root,”  says  the  old  maxim,  “ is  bitter,  but  the  fruit  is 
sweet.”  An  ardent  appetency  for  the  fruit  will  over- 
come the  bitterness  of  the  root.  It  is  this  active  de- 
sire and  purpose  which  makes  all  kinds  of  study  and 
research  alike  feasible.  A genuine  scholar  is  capable 
of  acquiring  an  interest  in  any  study  or  pursuit  under 
heaven  that  he  ought  to  prosecute ; he  is  but  a fraction 
of  a scholar  if  not.  And  there  is  no  shallower  plea 
for  neglecting  certain  important  studies  than  want  of 
taste  or  inclination.  Let  him  acquire  the  inclination. 
His  very  defect  demands  precisely  that  supply.  An 
eminent  jurist  once  complained,  bitterly  and  right- 
fully, that  his  son  in  college  was  suffered  to  neglect 
the  mathematics  on  the  ground  of  distaste.  “ That,” 
said  he,  66  is  exactly  the  weak  point  that  ought  to  have 
been  made  strong.”  And  the  power  to  bring  our 
hearty  interest  to  any  requisite  pursuit,  is  the  token 
of  our  transition  from  intellectual  babyhood  to  man- 
hood. I know  a young  man  who,  by  reason  of  imper- 
fect preparation,  entered  college  with  a strong  aversion 
to  that  finest  of  languages,  — the  Greek.  But  having 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP . 


85 


the  true  iron  in  his  blood,  he  heroically  chose  the 
Greek  electives  of  the  college  course,  threw  his  might 
into  the  work,  and  could  be  found,  not  long  ago,  en- 
thusiastically working  out  an  essay  on  the  felicitous 
collocation  of  words  in  Demosthenes,  and  taking  the 
first  Greek  prize.  When  such  men  as  these  are  edu- 
cated, they  do  not  run  in  a groove.  They  have  all  of 
life’s  activities  and  spheres  open  before  them  to  choose 
from.  Thus  I knew  a young  man  in  college  headed 
for  the  legal  profession  ; but  circumstances  changed 
that  choice  and  turned  him  towards  a more  literary 
life.  Within  a few  years  after  his  graduation,  he  was 
urged  or  invited  to  five  different  kinds  of  professor- 
ships, upon  any  one  of  which  he  could  then  have 
entered.  He  had  his  choice  and  he  took  his  choice. 

And  that,  let  me  say  in  passing,  is  one  of  the  pre- 
eminent advantages  of  the  long-time  established  course 
of  liberal  education.  It  sends  forth,  not  a man  of 
angles,  streaks,  or  crotchets,  but  a man  rounded  and 
expanded,  flexible  and  versatile,  many-sided  and  many- 
handed, ready  to  drop  into  the  sphere  he  may  prefer, 
and  in  it  to  maintain  his  legitimate  relations  to  all 
other  spheres.  And  whatever  assaults  may  be  made 
on  classical  and  especially  on  Greek  culture,  the  study, 
I doubt  not,  will  sufficiently  vindicate  itself  in  the  long 
run.  The  best  minds,  in  the  effort  to  place  themselves 
in  contact  with  the  world’s  thought  and  culture,  will 
still  find  it  wise  to  put  themselves  by  that  centre  and 
clue  to  it  all,  feel  the  quickening  power  of  its  marvel- 
lous models  and  matchless  speech,  and  follow  kthe  flow 
of  its  ever-expanding  stream,  as  it  has  tinged  all  later 
scholarship  and  literature.  Such  men,  as  it  seems  to 
me,  will  continue  to  be  on  the  average  the  finer  ath- 
letes, the  winners  in  the  race  of  intellectual  power, 


86 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


wherever  it  may  be  run.  As  benefactors,  but  not  as 
competitors,  will  they  have  occasion  to  deplore  any 
disparagement  of  classical  education.  The  issue  which 
old  Homer  set  forth  in  his  day  will  perhaps  be  symbol- 
ically repeated  now : — 

u The  men  of  Troy 

Made  head  against  the  Greeks.  The  Greeks  stood  firm, 

Nor  ever  thought  of  flight.  As  when  the  wind 
Strows  chaff  about  the  sacred  threshing-floor 
While  wheat  is  winnowed,  and  before  the  breeze 
The  yellow  Ceres  separates  the  grain 
From  its  light  husk,  which  gathers  in  white  heaps  : 

Even  so  the  Greeks  were  whitened  o’er  with  dust 
Raised  in  that  tumult  . . . 

Yet  the  Greeks  withstood 
The  onset,  and  struck  forward  with  strong  arms.  ’ ’ 

In  truth,  it  takes  a man  who  has  had  a classical  edu- 
cation to  make  a telling  assault  upon  it.  He  owes  it 
his  power.  We  can  afford  to  applaud  the  vigor  of  his 
blows  ; they  are  hard  hits  at  his  own  argument.  The 
shaft  is  winged  with  a feather  of  the  old  eagle. 

Again,  this  inner  zeal  of  which  I am  speaking  is 
what  gives  the  best  effect  to  the  best  instructions.  If 
the  parents  of  such  men  as  William  Pitt,  Addison 
Alexander,  and  John  Quincy  Adams  bestowed  extraor- 
dinary personal  care  upon  the  education  of  their  re- 
markable sons,  the  sons,  in  turn,  responded  with  still 
more  remarkable  interest  and  effort.  The  precocity 
of  Pitt’s  intellect  was  not  greater  than  the  precocity  of 
his  enthusiastic  application.  At  the  age  of  seven  he 
talked  of  speaking  in  the  House  of  Commons  “ like 
his  father.”  And  from  that  day  till  the  age  of  twenty- 
one,  if  there  was  any  one  mode  of  training  for  such  a 
sphere  which  he  had  not  spontaneously  put  in  thorough 
practice,  — elocution,  reading,  recitation,  memorizing, 
translation,  profound  and  critical  scholarship,  mock  de- 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP. 


87 


bates,  elaborate  study  of  living  Parliamentary  discus- 
sions, and  the  like,  — if  any  one  possible  auxiliary  prac- 
tice was  by  him  overlooked,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say 
what  it  could  be.  So,  also,  while  stout  old  J ohn  Adams 
was  writing  to  his  noble  wife,  “ It  should  be  your  care 
and  mine  to  elevate  the  minds  of  our  children,”  and 
both  were  doing  their  utmost  towards  that  end,  the 
young  J ohn  Quincy,  at  the  age  of  nine,  was  writing  to 
his  father  and  complaining  of  himself  on  this  wise  : 
“ My  head  is  much  too  fickle.  My  thoughts  are  run- 
ning after  birds’  eggs,  play,  and  trifles,  till  I get  vexed 
with  myself.  Mamma  has  a troublesome  task  to  keep 
me  studying.  I own  I am  ashamed  of  myself.  I 
have  but  just  entered  the  third  volume  of  Pollin’s 
History,  but  designed  to  have  got  half  through  it  by 
this  time.  I am  determined  this  week  to  be  more 
diligent.  I have  set  myself  a stint  this  week  to  read 
the  third  volume  out.  ...  I wish,  Sir,  you  would  give 
me  in  writing  some  instructions  with  regard  to  the  use 
of  my  time,  and  advise  me  how  to  proportion  my 
studies  and  my  play,  and  I will  keep  them  by  me  and 
endeavor  to  follow  them.”  That  will  do  for  a boy  of 
nine.  But  when  he  adds  in  a postscript : “ Sir,  if  you 
will  be  so  good  as  to  favor  me  with  a blank  book,  I 
will  transcribe  the  most  remarkable  passages  I meet 
with  in  my  reading,  which  will  serve  to  fix  them  upon 
my  mind,”  — we  see  already  the  germ  of  that  fulness 
of  knowledge  which  made  him  an  authority,  and  of 
that  habit  of  recording  which  made  him  so  formida- 
ble an  antagonist.  Still  more  irrepressible  and  omniv- 
orous was  the  literary  appetite  of  the  young  Alexander. 
At  the  age  of  eighteen  he  was  reading  with  ease  in 
ten  different  languages,  and  had  laid  the  broad  foun- 
dation for  the  first  Biblical  scholarship  of  his  time  in 
America. 


88 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


Such  illustrations  could  be  indefinitely  multiplied. 
The  inward  zeal  performs  the  outward  work.  Indeed, 
it  would  be  one  of  the  most  impressive  of  all  lessons 
to  young  scholars,  could  we  place  before  them,  so  that 
they  might  see  at  a glance,  the  intense  enthusiasm 
and  tireless  toil  with  which  men  in  wholly  inferior 
pursuits  have  thrown  themselves  upon  their  work. 
Even  the  acrobat  or  the  gymnast  carries  the  zeal  of  a 
Socrates.  Your  base-ball  pitcher  and  catcher  give 
their  mind  to  it,  — often,  gentlemen,  all  the  mind 
they  have.  The  great  ballet  - dancer  — Taglioni  or 
Elssler  — does  the  same.  You  remember  the  alleged 
effect  — whether  fact  or  fiction  — produced  by  Elssler 
upon  Emerson  and  Margaret  Fuller : “ Margaret,” 
said  he,  “ that  is  poetry.”  “ Ralph,  it  is  religion.” 
Evidently  her  whole  soul  was  in  her  lower  extremi- 
ties. Your  chess  and  billiard  champions  have  done 
little  else  in  their  lives.  The  great  violinist  lives  for 
his  instrument,  and  hugs  and  caresses  it  like  a child. 
What  an  untold  amount  of  self-moved  labor  enters 
into  the  training  of  the  prima-donna  or  the  tragic 
actor,  in  the  whole  and  in  detail.  Years  of  prelimi- 
nary work  leave  the  same  ardent  zeal  of  practice ; and 
numberless  anecdotes  could  be  given,  — as  of  Mac- 
ready,  overheard  in  a hotel,  practising  two  solid  hours 
on  the  word  64  murder,”  and  of  Madame  Malibran  ex- 
plaining to  a friend  how  she  had  acquired  a certain 
extraordinary  trill.  “ Oh,”  said  she,  “ for  three  months 
I have  been  running  after  it.  I have  pursued  it 
everywhere,  — while  arranging  my  hair,  while  dress- 
ing, — and  I found  it  one  morning  in  fche  bottom  of 
my  shoes  as  I was  putting  them  on.”  What  invinci- 
ble enthusiasm  and  exhaustless  labor  have  marked  the 
history  of  musical  composers  and  performers ! And 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP. 


89 


how,  when  the  fountain  has  been  dammed  in  one  place, 
it  has  burst  out  in  another ! Thus  Eulenstein,  appren- 
ticed to  an  iron-monger  with  an  iron  heart,  and  de- 
prived successively  of  his  violin,  French-horn,  flageolet, 
and  guitar,  resorted  in  despair  to  the  Jew’s-harp,  and 
by  four  years’  practice  gained  such  astonishing  skill 
as  to  command  a European  reputation. 

The  history  of  high  art  in  every  form  would  show 
the  same  irrepressible  zeal  prompting  the  untiring 
work  that  has  immortalized  the  men.  It  was  labor  of 
love.  Michael  Angelo  studying  anatomy  and  dissect- 
ing like  a surgeon,  and  in  his  long  life  of  more  than 
fourscore  years  never  finding  time  enough  to  execute 
the  fond  conceptions  of  his  teeming  brain,  and  Ra- 
phael filling  his  short  life  of  thirty-seven  with  an 
amount  of  achievement  which  nothing  but  an  almost 
superhuman  ardor  can  explain,  are  but  specimens  of 
a vast  company. 

A similar  enthusiasm  has  marked  success  in  litera- 
ture. To  cite  the  numerous  and  signal  instances, 
would  be  to  repeat  an  oft-told  tale.  Of  the  very  few 
American  writers  who,  with  no  tinge  of  classical  edu- 
cation, have  attained  a mastery  of  English  style,  Frank- 
lin and  Lincoln  are  preeminent.  Both  achieved  it  by 
their  ardent  zeal  and  painstaking,  using  the  best  avail- 
able substitute  for  the  process  of  translation.  Frank- 
lin, as  you  know,  was  wont  to  take  the  essays  of 
Addison,  — himself  formed  wholly  on  classic  influ- 
ences, — convert  them  into  other  phraseology,  and 
after  a time  re-convert,  as  near  as  might  be,  into  their 
original  form.  Lincoln,  as  he  informed  Dr.  Gulliver, 
from  his  early  manhood  formed  the  habit  of  working 
his  sentences  over  and  over  in  every  possible  shape, 
never  resting  till  he  had  hit  the  exact  form  that  told 


90 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


his  meaning.  And  that  short  but  famous  Gettysburg 
oration  was  written  and  re-written,  till  by  its  terse  and 
majestic  terms  it  was  fitted  to  wing  its  way  down  to 
immortality,  by  the  side  of  the  epitaph  at  Thermopylae. 
Why  should  I cite  instances  of  the  unwearied  elabora- 
tion of  style,  — as  of  Pope,  exhausting  the  patience 
of  his  printers  by  his  endless  corrections  of  proof,  of 
Lyman  Beecher,  spending  three  weeks  upon  a single 
paragraph,  or  of  the  wit  Sheridan,  writing  and  re- 
writing his  repartees,  even  that  biting  sarcasm,  till  it 
cut  as  keen  as  a razor : “ The  gentleman  is  indebted 
to  his  imagination  for  his  facts,  and  his  memory  for 
his  wit”? 

If  we  glance  into  the  field  of  oratory,  what  a won- 
derful exhibition  should  we  find  of  devoted  self -cul- 
ture, of  success  achieved,  by  nothing  short  of  the  most 
ardent  purpose  ! To  give  a catalogue  would  be  to  cite 
nearly  all  the  great  names  from  Demosthenes  to  Glad- 
stone. Think  of  Fox  practising  every  night  in  a 
session  but  one,  and  regretting  that  omission ; of 
“ stuttering  Jack  ” Curran,  Sheridan,  Cobden,  Hall, 
Beaconsfield,  after  humiliating  failures  indomitably 
pressing  on  to  success,  — and  you  see  the  power  of  a 
purpose  ! Indeed,  the  Reverend  Sydney  Smith  declares 
himself  “ convinced  that  a man  might  sit  down  as  sys- 
tematically and  as  successfully  to  the  study  of  wit  as 
he  might  to  the  study  of  mathematics,  and  I would 
answer  for  it,  that,  by  giving  up  only  six  hours  a day 
to  being  witty,  he  should  come  on  prodigiously  before 
midsummer,  so  that  his  friends  should  hardly  know 
him  again.”  I think,  however,  the  prescription  would 
succeed  much  better  with  men  like  Smith  than  with 
you  or  me,  — although  I may  say  that  I have  seen 
men  who  did  try  to  be  witty  all  day  long,  and  with  a 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP.  91 

success  that  certainly  astonished  their  friends,  and 
might  have  gratified  their  foes. 

Let  me  add  to  these  considerations  the  fact,  that  it 
is  by  this  self-impelled  purpose  that  the  men  of  mark 
in  every  line  overpass  their  instructors  and  push  out 
for  themselves.  There  is  always  a point  at  which  the 
range  of  the  instructor  in  any  pathway  ceases,  while  the 
field  stretches  out  illimitably  beyond.  From  the  van- 
tage-ground of  the  past  the  apt  pupil  peers  inquiringly 
into  the  future.  All  the  men  who  have  advanced  the 
boundaries  of  learning  or  skill,  in  whatever  direction, 
have  had  to  strike  out  boldly  for  themselves.  They 
leave  all  guides  behind  and  become  their  own  teach- 
ers. Who  taught  Paganini  to  play  a whole  sonata  on 
one  string  of  his  violin?  Who  taught  the  painter 
Cimabue  first  to  break  away  from  his  stiff  and  wooden 
Greek  models,  Giotto  to  surpass  his  teacher  Cimabue, 
and  thus  onward  to  the  grand  culmination  in  Michael 
Angelo,  Da  Vinci,  and  Raphael  ? Who  taught  Da 
Vinci  himself  to  match  the  angel  of  his  master,  Ve- 
rocchio,  with  another  so  much  beyond  it  that  the 
master  never  painted  more  ? 

In  like  manner  have  the  extraordinary  advances  of 
science  been  carried  forward  by  self-impelled  men,  — 
as,  in  chemistry  from  Priestley  to  Faraday,  in  astron- 
omy from  Copernicus  to  Lockyer,  in  geology  from 
Buckland  to  Geikie,  — - each  adventurer  first  recon- 
noitring, and  soon  boldly  breaking  forth  beyond  the 
fixed  line  of  the  past.  So  remarkable  has  been  the 
activity  of  these  men  in  devising  new  inquiries  and 
new  combinations  and  experiments,  that  in  some  in- 
stances, at  least,  it  would  require  a whole  lecture  to 
describe  the  enterprise  of  one  man. 

The  same  self-impelled  activity  has  prompted  the 


92 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


progress  and  success  of  other  modern  researches,  his- 
torical, archaeological,  linguistic.  Niebuhr’s  self-taught 
method  marks  almost  a revolution  in  the  art  of  writing 
history,  so  as  to  insure  a re-writing  of  a large  part  of 
all  the  past,  from  the  scrutiny  of  authentic  documents, 
scattered  hints  of  contemporaries,  local  explorations, 
and  newly  discovered  or  newly-interrogated  antiqui- 
ties. No  doubt  many  a traditional  statement  is  thus 
rendered  obsolete ; but,  within  a generation,  what  new 
and  fresh  revelations  have  thus  been  made  of  the  hid- 
den springs,  the  real  forces  and  sources  of  national 
and  human  life!  By  these  indefatigable  researches  we 
now  discern  all  the  complex  activities  of  Chaldaea  in 
the  time  of  Abraham,  and  have  a clearer  conception 
of  daily  life  in  Egypt  more  than  three  thousand  years 
ago  than  in  Plymouth  Colony  two  hundred  and  sixty 
years  ago.  But  how  much  more  yet  remains  to  be 
done  ! 

What  a surprising  self-moved  activity  has  in  our 
day  pushed  the  lines  of  archaeology  in  so  many  lines 
of  mutual  helpfulness,  till  the  several  paths  seem 
almost  ready  to  meet ! Look  for  a moment  at  two 
great  auxiliary  labors  in  this  vast  process,  — the  un- 
locking of  the  hieroglyphics  and  the  translation  of 
the  wedge-shaped  characters  of  Babylonia  and  Chal- 
daea  ! What  could  seem  more  hopeless  than  the 
rendering  of  those  strange  figures  on  the  Egyptian 
columns,  temples,  and  manuscripts,  written  in  three 
different  forms,  all  alike  mysterious.  Of  the  hiero- 
glyphics proper,  not  a word  or  a letter  was  known 
or  conjectured ; it  was  not  known  that  there  were 
words  or  letters ; indeed,  men  were  on  the  wrong 
track  that  it  was  wholly  a kind  of  symbolic  or  picture 
writing.  And  if  there  were  a language  covered  by 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP. 


93 


these  mysterious  characters,  what  tongue  it  might  be 
was  equally  unknown.  The  language  which  it  proved 
to  be  was  then  a dead  language  in  Egypt,  and  prac- 
tically unknown  to  European  scholars  ; and  the  signs 
themselves  were  soon  found  to  be  not  fixed,  but  vari- 
able, having  sometimes  many  forms  for  the  same 
sound.  Here  was  perplexity  upon  perplexity,  wheel 
within  wheel.  But  an  ardent  scholarship  was  equal 
to  the  task.  It  skilfully  conjectured  and  isolated  a 
royal  name,  then  another,  — “ Ptolemy  ” and  “ Cleo- 
patra,” — analyzing  the  elements,  extending  the  anal- 
ysis step  by  step  in  new  combinations,  meanwhile 
acquiring  the  tongue  in  which  it  was  conjectured  to 
be  written,  till  by  the  concurrent  skill  of  many  minds, 
and  the  intermittent  progress  of  many  years,  these 
records  of  the  past  were  laid  open.  Still  more  im- 
penetrable, if  possible,  was  the  problem  of  the  wedge- 
shaped  inscriptions  of  the  East.  The  characters 
themselves  looked  hopelessly  inscrutable,  the  seem- 
ingly confused  and  interminable  repetition  and  combi- 
nation of  a single  form  — the  wedge  — a bewildering 
labyrinth.  They  represented,  as  was  afterwards  found, 
three  different  modes  of  writing : alphabetic,  sylla- 
bic, and  alphabetico  - ideographic ; and  they  covered 
three  unknown  tongues,  — the  old  Persian,  the  Median 
or  Elamite,  and  the  Assyrian,  itself  sometimes  con- 
sidered as  twofold.  Here,  too,  though  after  a toil  of 
many  years,  scholarly  enthusiasm  triumphed,  and  is 
giving  us  a literature  of  vast  extent. 

Leaving  now  this  broader  field,  let  us  take  two 
specimens  from  the  field  of  classical  research;  and 
they  shall  be  one  from  the  earliest,  and  one  from  the 
latest  period.  Some  three  and  a half  centuries  ago, 
Erasmus  was  the  first  professor  of  Greek  at  Cam- 


94 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


bridge  University,  the  first  editor  of  the  Greek  Tes- 
tament, the  founder  of  the  Erasmian  pronunciation, 
and  the  leading  scholar  of  Europe.  But  see  how  he 
reached  that  eminence ! An  illegitimate  child,  early 
an  orphan  and  in  poverty,  forced  by  his  guardians  into 
a convent  among  dull  and  sensual  associates,  happily 
making  his  way  at  last  to  the  University  of  Paris, 
where  he  maintained  himself  by  private  teaching,  and 
whence,  he  says,  “ I carried  away  nothing  but  a body 
infected  with  disease  and  a plentiful  supply  of  ver- 
min,” attended  henceforth  by  broken  health  and  life- 
long suffering,  starting  for  England  as  a pensioner  on 
the  bounty  of  a nobleman,  at  thirty  a] most  wholly 
destitute  of  any  knowledge  of  the  Greek  and  too  poor 
to  seek  it  in  Italy,  at  that  time  its  proper  home,  start- 
ing at  last,  but  robbed  on  the  way,  sent  thither  at 
length  by  the  charity  of  English  friends,  — it  was 
twelve  years  from  his  first  visit  to  Cambridge  before 
he  returned  as  professor.  Meantime,  notwithstand- 
ing the  help  of  Italian  scholars,  he  describes  himself 
as  mainly  auroStSaKros,  and  as  giving  his  “ whole  mind  ” 
to  Greek  literature  with  such  devotion  that  when  he 
gets  any  money  he  first  buys  Greek  authors,  and  then 
clothing.  A quiet  chair  at  Cambridge  might  have 
seemed  a refuge  from  all  his  harassments.  But  no. 
He  was  sowing  seed  on  uncongenial  soil.  His  pay  de- 
pended mainly  on  the  fees  of  young  men,  few  and 
poor.  He  was  surrounded  by  indifferent  and  some 
hostile  spirits,  oppressed  with  debt,  ill-health,  and 
anxiety,  disgusted  with  the  climate,  “ living  the  life 
of  a snail  in  its  shell,  stowing  myself  away  in  the  col- 
lege,” and  at  length  seeing  his  little  squad  of  pupils 
disperse  before  the  advent  of  the  plague.  He  then 
himself  took  flight  to  the  Continent,  feeling  that  his 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP. 


95 


sojourn  at  Cambridge  had  been  a failure.  Yet  through 
all  these  difficulties  and  discouragements  he  won  his 
way  to  be  an  “ oracle  in  Europe,  to  gain  the  favor  of 
princes  and  courts,  and  to  win  a deathless  fame  ” in 
the  world  of  scholarship. 

Just  three  centuries  from  the  death  of  Erasmus  in 
the  fulness  of  his  fame,  a boy  of  fourteen  became 
apprentice  in  a little  grocer’s  shop  in  the  little  Ger- 
man town  of  Fiirstenburg.  His  father,  a poor  clergy- 
man, had  told  him  tales  of  the  Homeric  times  ; at  the 
age  of  seven  he  had  seen  a picture  of  JEneas,  Anchises, 
and  Ascanius  fleeing  from  the  burning  city ; he  was 
filled  with  the  thought  that  the  ruins  of  those  walls 
must  still  remain ; and  the  boy  and  his  father  agreed 
that  u he  should  one  day  excavate  Troy.”  Everything 
but  the  irrepressible  bent  of  his  soul  was  against  it. 
Poverty  had  driven  him  from  the  gymnasium  after 
three  months’  study.  His  grocer’s  apprenticeship  — 
the  best  thing  he  could  get  — kept  him  from  five  in 
the  morning  till  eleven  at  night,  without  a moment’s 
leisure,  selling  herrings,  whiskey,  candles,  salt,  sugar, 
and  the  like,  grinding  potatoes  for  the  still,  sweeping 
the  shop,  and  in  contact  with  the  lowest  classes  of  so- 
ciety. Even  here  the  passion  was  still  upon  him,  and 
he  hired  a drunken  and  expelled  student  to  recite 
the  rhythmic  lines  of  Homer,  though  utterly  unintel- 
ligible to  him,  and  prayed  God  that  by  his  grace  he 
might  yet  have  the  happiness  of  learning  Greek. 
From  that  drudgery  he  was  released  only  by  a misfor- 
tune— an  injury  of  the  chest,  attended  with  spitting 
of  blood ; he  lost  two  other  places  in  succession  by 
reason  of  that  debility  and  consequent  incapacity  for 
work ; and,  to  earn  his  bread,  he  shipped  as  a cabin- 
boy,  so  destitute  as  to  sell  his  coat  to  buy  a blanket. 


96 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


Wrecked,  rescued,  sent  to  Amsterdam  by  the  charity 
of  strangers  arriving  in  winter,  without  a coat,  quickly 
exhausting  the  few  florins  given  him  in  alms,  he 
feigned  sickness  to  be  taken  to  a hospital.  When,  at 
the  point  of  despair,  a distant  friend  raised  for  him  a 
subscription  of  a hundred  dollars,  and  procured  him  a 
place  as  messenger-boy  in  an  office.  He  was  nineteen 
years  of  age.  With  the  mental  freedom  of  his  mechan- 
ical occupation  — so  commonly  a blank  — began  his 
education  and  his  actual  life-work.  One  half  of  his 
salary  of  $160  he  expended  on  his  studies,  living  on  the 
other  half  — if  it  could  be  called  living  — in  a wretched 
garret,  where  he  shivered  with  cold  and  was  scorched 
with  heat,  with  rye-meal  porridge  for  breakfast,  and 
never  spending  more  than  two  pence  for  his  dinner, 
and  all  the  while  — in  his  lodgings,  on  his  errands,  at 
his  waiting-places  — grappling  with  the  English  lan- 
guage. Though  complaining  of  a bad  memory,  by  his 
extraordinary  exertions  and  singular  devices  in  six 
months  he  had  gained,  he  says,  a thorough  knowledge 
of  the  language.  In  another  six  months  he  conquered 
the  French ; and  the  Dutch,  Spanish,  Portuguese,  and 
Italian  speedily  followed.  It  must  be  confessed,  how- 
ever, that  his  intensity  of  study  interfered  with  his 
work  and  his  promotion.  Good  friends,  at  length,  pro- 
cured him  a place  as  book-keeper  and  correspondent, 
with  a salary  of  $250,  — soon  increased,  for  his  zeal,  to 
$400.  Grateful  for  this  generosity,  to  make  himself 
useful  to  his  firm  as  a correspondent,  he  applied  him- 
self to  the  Russian  language,  without  a teacher,  and 
with  no  helps  but  an  old  grammar,  lexicon,  and  a 
T616maque  in  Russian.  He  read  and  wrote,  and  re- 
cited aloud,  day  after  day,  hiring  a poor  Jew  dumbly 
to  listen  two  hours  every  evening  to  his  Russian 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP. 


97 


declamation,  at  six  and  a quarter  cents  an  hour,  with- 
out understanding  a syllable,  but  simply  to  cheer  him 
on,  — and  so  disturbing  his  fellow-tenants  through  the 
thin  board  partitions,  that  he  was  twice  forced  to 
change  his  lodgings  as  a social  nuisance.  But  he  tri- 
umphed, as  always,  and  in  six  weeks  wrote  his  first 
Russian  letter,  and  found  himself  able  to  converse  flu- 
ently with  the  Russian  merchants  visiting  Amsterdam. 
This  last  acquisition  soon  carried  him  to  Russia  as 
agent  of  the  firm,  and  laid  the  foundation  for  his  for- 
tune. But,  alas  ! at  the  very  dawn  of  his  prosperous 
days  came  the  heaviest  stroke  of  his  life.  There  was  a 
young  maiden,  Minna  Meincke,  who  had  been  his  com- 
panion from  childhood,  shared  all  his  imaginings,  re- 
turned his  affection,  dwelt  in  his  memory,  and  by  that 
memory  “ filled  him  with  a boundless  energy.”  Though 
her  parents  opposed,  they  had  met  and  parted  in  tear- 
ful and  almost  speechless  love,  ten  years  before.  And 
when  now,  before  a brilliant  opening,  he  dared  write 
asking  for  her  hand,  what  was  his  horror  to  hear  in 
reply  that  she  had  just  been  married  to  another  ! The 
shock  by  which  the  fond  vision  of  sixteen  years  dis- 
solved in  a moment  unfitted  him  for  business,  pros- 
trated him  with  sickness,  and  became  the  sorrow  of 
years.  He  rallied  at  length  to  his  work.  But  through 
all  his  struggles,  his  business,  and  his  sorrow,  the  vis- 
ion of  Troy  and  the  memory  of  his  promise  loomed  up 
before  him.  It  was  only  at  the  age  of  thirty-four  that 
he  found  leisure  to  acquire  the  modern  and  then  the 
ancient  Greek,  and  after  these  the  Latin ; and  not 
until  twelve  years  later  yet  was  he  able  to  realize  the 
“ dream  of  his  life,”  and  begin  his  excavations  upon 
the  classic  soil.  But  how  effectually  at  last  Henry 
Schliemann  realized  that  early  dream  and  gained  the 


98 


THE  SPONTANEOUS  ELEMENT 


attention  and  gratitude  of  the  scholarly  world,  his 
volumes,  “ Ilios,”  “ Troy,”  “ Mycenae,”  and  “ Troja  ” 
bear  witness,  and  the  world  well  knows.  And  in  all 
his  hard  and  trying  history  there  was  but  one  striking 
Providential  interposition  in  his  favor, — when  his  en- 
tire fortune  alone  escaped  in  the  general  conflagration 
at  Memel.  Otherwise,  his  signal  career  has  been  but 
the  steady  outgrowth  of  his  irrepressible  zeal  and 
practical  energy. 

It  would  be  easy  to  accumulate  such  instances  from 
every  age  and  every  field  of  study.  But  I trust  I 
have  cited  enough  to  enforce  my  theme,  and  to  show 
that  — whether  for  facing  and  surmounting  obstacles, 
making  effectual  use  of  scanty  opportunities,  reaping 
the  benefit  of  the  best  instruction,  or  extending  the 
boundaries  of  science  and  literature  — all  true  scholar- 
ship must  be  spontaneous,  self-impelled,  earnest,  reso- 
lute. Would  I might  sow  here  some  seed  of  high 
aspirations,  self  - moved  attainments,  and  literary 
achievements  that  should  reach  far  beyond  school-days 
and  school-studies ! The  world  is  old,  but  the  fields  of 
thought  are  always  young.  Every  new  path  opens  to 
others  newer  yet.  Never  was  the  outlook  more  inviting 
and  hopeful  than  now.  Science  in  every  department 
calls  for  skilled  votaries.  History,  ancient  and  mod- 
ern, is  largely  to  be  re-written.  Archaeology  is  yet  in 
its  youth.  Linguistics  and  comparative  philology  offer 
an  exhaustless  store  of  materials.  Hebrew  and  Greek 
scholarship  have  not  yet  done  their  best.  Egyptology 
and  Assyriology  present  vast  fields  of  promise.  Hit- 
tite,  Cypriote,  and  Etruscan  inscriptions  are  waiting 
to  be  read.  Hindoo,  Chinese,  and  Japanese  litera- 
tures are  yet  to  be  explored  and  sifted.  Huge  piles  of 
authentic  documents,  all  over  the  world,  are  to  be  in- 


IN  SCHOLARSHIP. 


99 


terrogated  for  the  truth.  The  call  for  study  of  the 
Scriptures  — their  history,  teachings,  evidences,  and 
results  — was  never  more  loud  and  earnest.  Biblical 
manuscripts  are  further  to  be  compared,  early  versions 
to  be  critically  edited  and  corrected,  and  the  Christian 
Fathers  to  be  more  abundantly  explored.  The  field 
of  English  literature  will  never  be  closed.  And  while, 
after  the  lapse  of  two  and  a half  centuries,  our  Shake- 
speare is  the  theme  of  fresh  and  constant  discussion, 
there  is  room,  if  not  for  other  Shakespeares,  yet  for 
noble  writers  of  both  poetry  and  prose.  May  the 
ranks  of  high  scholarship  in  more  than  one  of  these 
lines  be  recruited  from  your  number ! 

And  remember,  young  men,  that  the  opportunities 
are  waiting  for  you.  And  if  there  is  one  thought  on 
this  theme  which  the  observation  of  a life-time  im- 
presses on  me  most  profoundly,  it  is  that  “ success 
consists  in  being  ready  for  your  opportunity.5’  The 
opportunity  comes  round  like  some  majestic  vessel, 
bound  on  a returnless  voyage,  touching  at  port  after 
port,  once  for  all.  The  voyager  that  is  ready  goes  on 
board ; the  unready  are  left.  Yes,  from  every  sphere 
of  activity  comes  the  loud  call  for  the  men  ; but,  alas ! 
the  men  do  not  come. 

But  do  not  understand  me  to  intimate  that  success 
depends  on  the  greatness  of  the  sphere.  That  is  acci- 
dental, — providential.  It  is  found,  not  in  the  sphere 
we  fill,  but  in  the  filling  of  the  sphere.  We  need 
give  ourselves  little  concern  about  that  sphere.  It  will 
take  care  of  itself  if  we  take  care  of  ourselves.  Each 
man  has  his  mission.  The  place  it  is  best  he  should 
occupy  he  will  attain.  In  the  long  run  men  find  their 
level. 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 


A primary  need  of  the  soul  is  for  something  to 
reverence,  and  this  need  is  the  mark  of  its  nobility. 
The  cultivation  of  the  purely  intellectual  element,  of 
which,  perhaps,  we  make  too  much  in  our  systems 
of  education,  rests  on  the  faith  that  we  have  in  the 
soul  itself,  in  its  capacities,  its  possibilities  of  doing 
good  things  for  the  world,  and  also  on  the  faith  that 
we  have  in  certain  studies,  that  they  will  give  liberal 
training ; will  make  the  coming  man  gentle  and 
courteous  and  true  and  patriotic,  and,  above  all,  rev- 
erential. 

When  Juvenal  wrote, — 

“ Maxima  debetur  puero  reverentia,” 

it  was  from  a dread  of  the  baseness  to  which  the  open- 
ing powers  of  the  mind  and  body  may  be  devoted ; 
from  a fear  of  those  corruptions  that  seemed  to  wait 
on  the  birth  of  every  Roman  boy ; and  it  was  not 
without  a certain  awe  before  the  great  achievement 
that  perhaps  lay  embryonic  in  the  child. 

Our  own  Lowell  echoes  the  line  when  he  says  : — 

u It  is  no  little  tiling  when  a fresh  soul 
And  a fresh  heart  with  their  unmeasured  scope 
For  good,  not  gravitating  earthward  yet, 

But  circling  in  divine  periods, 

Are  sent  into  the  world.” 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  101 


So  Wordsworth  : — 

“ Dear  child,  dear  girl  that  walkest  with  me  here, 
If  thou  appear  untouched  by  solemn  thought, 
Thy  nature  is  not  therefore  less  divine  ; 

Thou  liest  in  Abraham’s  bosom  all  the  year 
And  worship’st  at  the  Temple’s  inner  shrine, 
God  being  with  thee  when  we  know  it  not.” 


So  Saint  Anthony,  as  we  see  him  in  the  Murillo 
pictures  receiving  a vision  of  the  Christ-child,  is  the 
incarnation  of  reverence  and  the  perfect  illustration 
of  Juvenal’s  verse. 

The  verse  has  seemed  singular  in  the  denouncing 
old  Roman  poet,  but  it  brings  him  very  near  to  our 
modern  sight.  There  has  been  no  great  nation  with- 
out a deep  sentiment  of  reverence  for  some  qualities 
embodied  in  personality,  pervading  the  character  of 
the  people  as  a whole.  The  Romans  deified  their  illus- 
trious dead ; the  distinguished  ancestors  reappeared 
in  the  splendor  of  their  highest  public  honors  at  the 
funeral  of  each  great  man,  and  seemed  to  welcome  the 
departed  to  a place  among  the  gods.  For  these  Ro- 
mans the  state  was  the  most  commanding  conception, 
and  all  individual  powers  were  consecrated  to  the 
exaltation  of  the  republic.  Even  the  gods  received 
honor  in  proportion  to  the  benefits  they  conferred 
upon  the  state.  This  conception  gave  an  intense  one- 
ness to  their  history,  for  those  who  had  goodness 
glowing  in  their  hearts.  Their  goodness  was  virtus  in 
the  service  of  the  state,  either  in  the  city  or  in  the 
field.  The  reverence  of  the  Romans  for  their  an- 
cestors, their  officers,  and  the  state  died  out  (and  it  is 
a solemn  lesson)  when  sensuality  and  lewdness  began 
to  prevail.  When  Juvenal  wrote  the  oft-quoted  line, 
it  was  a voice  from  a sound  mind,  re-stating  amidst 


102  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 


the  degeneracy  of  the  empire  the  first  principles  on 
which  Roman  greatness  had  been  built  up. 

The  Greeks  reverenced  beauty,  not  a mere  sensuous 
perfection  of  form,  but  a beauty  that  expressed  inner 
perfections,  — courage,  subtlety,  and  power,  high,  but 
not  the  highest  qualities.  They  set  up  statues  of  great 
men,  but  they  took  care  that  only  those  thrice  victors 
in  the  Olympic  games  should  have  portrait  statues. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  this  caution  ? They  con- 
ceived that  the  most  vigorous  and  enduring  manliness 
would,  as  a rule,  be  expressed  in  the  most  perfect 
body,  and  that  only  the  most  perfect  types  of  beauty 
should  be  exhibited  to  the  citizens,  the  women,  and 
the  boys.  They  said,  “ He  who  has  been  thrice  vic- 
tor will  be  more  admired  than  he  who  has  conquered 
only  once.  And  as  the  triple  victor  will  be  of  more 
ideal  form,  his  statue  will  best  kindle  the  reverence 
for  beauty  and  physical  perfection  so  necessary  to 
maintain  the  glory  of  the  state.”  Thus  our  rever- 
ence for  Greek  art,  our  obedience  to  canons  as  old 
as  Homer  and  more  enduring  than  the  Parthenon,  is 
really  a tribute  to  the  reverence  of  these  talkative, 
noisy,  curious,  subtle,  acute  worshippers  of  beauty. 
“ The  manners  of  the  Greeks,”  says  Emerson,  “ were 
plain  and  fierce.  The  reverence  exhibited  is  for  per- 
sonal qualities : courage,  address,  self-command,  jus- 
tice, strength,  swiftness,  a loud  voice,  a broad  chest.” 
This  reverence  is  deep  and  intense ; and  it  is  our  sym- 
pathy with,  or  rather  our  honor  for,  the  things  they  re- 
vered that  brings  th^m  so  near  us  and  gives  them  such 
a lasting  dominion  ; thus  Emerson  adds,  64  In  reading 
their  fine  apostrophes  to  the  stars,  to  rocks,  mountains, 
waves,  I feel  time  passing  away  as  an  ebbing  sea,  I 
feel  the  eternity  of  man,  the  ideality  of  his  thought.” 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  103 


That  was  a finer  reverence  which  our  old  Germanic 
ancestors  had,  as  recorded  by  Tacitus,  forbidding 
them  to  fashion  images  of  their  gods.  He  says, 
“They  call  by  the  names  of  divinities  that  secret  thing 
which  they  discern  by  reverence  alone.”  There  is  an 
equally  fine  feeling  in  the  assignment  of  their  divini- 
ties to  the  groves  for  their  temples,  making  the  depth 
of  some  majestic  forest  rather  than  a frail  fabric  of 
their  own  construction  the  sanctuary  of  their  wor- 
shipped gods. 

Few  peoples  ever  had  this  quality  of  reverence  in 
ampler  proportions  than  the  early  settlers  of  New 
England.  There  was  mingled  with  it  much  pride  and 
intolerance,  but  their  reverence  was  not  held  within 
religious  limits,  though  religion  was  the  main  channel 
for  its  expression.  There  was  high  esteem  for  learn- 
ing, and  they  founded  colleges  and  chose  learned  men 
for  their  magistrates.  There  was  reverence  for  au- 
thority, and  they  tried  every  means  that  they  might 
live  in  harmony  with  the  mother-country.  Faith  and 
reverence  go  hand  in  hand,  and  the  two  united  give 
a solidity  to  human  achievement  which  partakes  of 
the  very  permanence  of  the  universe.  Meteors 
with  short-lived  brilliancy  produce  no  great  results. 
Real  achievement  rests  on  slow  but  continuous  forces, 
and  like  the  granite  foundations  comes  slowly  into 
being,  but  may  rise  at  last  suddenly  upon  the  land- 
scape to  add  beauty  and  grandeur  for  the  coming 
millennium. 

Whatever  convulsions  have  shaken  Roman  author- 
ity, the  reverence  for  law,  which  was  the  Roman  rev- 
erence, upholds  the  modern  fabrics  of  society,  and  has 
its  lasting  expression  in  the  bridges,  the  highways, 
the  courts,  and  cathedrals  of  the  world.  Whatever 


104  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 

eclipse  has  come  over  the  Shechinah  at  Jerusalem, 
monotheism  and  the  morality  which  sprang  from  it 
are  a banyan  tree  that  ever  produces  the  leaves  which 
are  still  for  the  healing  of  the  nations,  and  promises 
to  embrace  the  entire  globe.  The  reverence  of  our 
New  England  fathers,  has  it  not  raised  high  monu- 
ments in  the  amazing  development  of  this  broad  land, 
in  its  churches,  colleges,  railroads,  and  equal  states  ? 

A nation  is  to  be  congratulated  when  it  has  many 
illustrious  men  in  its  history,  to  whom  the  people  may 
look  back  with  reverential  love.  Happy  the  people 
possessing  among  their  dead  a Washington,  a Lincoln, 
a Grant.  Each  such  name  helps  to  hold  the  passing 
generations,  with  all  their  new  problems  and  revolu- 
tionary impulses,  in  allegiance  to  the  ideals  of  the 
past.  One  must  believe  that  Westminster  Abbey  is 
a perpetual  incentive  to  true  patriotism  ; that  beneath 
the  constant  influence  of  its  noble  monuments  dem- 
agogues should  not  flourish.  As  one  walks  beneath 
those  arches  and  reads  the  records  of  heroes  who  have 
died  in  various  climes  for  England  and  mankind,  of 
the  statesmen  and  the  authors  who  have  for  so  many 
centuries  been  making  the  English  language  and  ideas 
the  most  precious  literary  heritage  of  the  world,  one 
gets  a profound  impression  of  the  solidity  of  English 
institutions,  a firm  confidence  that  widespread,  deeply- 
penetrating  roots  will  keep  the  English  oak  green  for 
centuries  to  come. 

Nor  is  it  any  less  true  of  individuals  than  of  nations 
that  permanent  fame  rests  upon  reverence  for  high 
attainments,  but  rather  for  great  principles  and  the 
customs  founded  on  great  principles,  for  truth,  honor, 
courage,  self-sacrifice,  chastity,  for  marriage  and  civil 
government.  When  reverence  for  these  is  gone  from 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  105 


a man,  we  may  admire  his  military  genius  or  his  finan- 
cial shrewdness,  but  none  the  less  we  think  of  him  as 
having  lost  the  finest  thing  that  distinguishes  man 
from  the  brute. 

When  Abraham  Lincoln,  in  that  memorable  contest 
with  Stephen  A.  Douglas  in  1858  for  the  senatorship 
from  Illinois,  a contest  extending  over  weeks  of  de- 
bate, in  reply  to  a flippant  allusion  by  Douglas  to  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  solemnly  spoke  of  him- 
self as  of  no  importance,  of  his  illustrious  opponent 
as  of  no  importance,  in  comparison  with  that  precious 
document,  and  of  the  principle  of  equal  rights  for 
all  men  as  of  more  value  than  a multitude  of  men,  he 
revealed  a reverence  for  justice  and  for  the  happy  de- 
velopment of  a people  under  a just  government  so 
profound,  with  such  fervor  of  eloquent  self-forgetful- 
ness, as  to  betoken  to  the  thoughtful  man  who  heard 
or  read  his  words  the  foundation  of  a colossal  great- 
ness. Such  a greatness  was  afterwards  reared  upon 
that  foundation,  and  Douglas,  who  was  at  one  time 
the  idol  of  his  party,  known  as  “ the  little  giant  of 
the  West,”  and  who  received  the  support  of  most 
Northern  Democrats  for  the  presidency  in  1860,  hav- 
ing contrived  the  principle  of  squatter  sovereignty, 
apparently  in  the  interests  of  fair  play,  but  who  failed 
by  it  to  satisfy  either  the  Northern  lovers  of  freedom 
or  the  extreme  advocates  of  slavery,  has  now  a slender 
fame  in  comparison  with  the  majestic  honor  belonging 
to  his  martyred  rival. 

The  oft-quoted  passage  from  Kant  is  an  illustration 
of  the  reverence  that  dwells  with  true  greatness : 
44  Two  things  fill  my  soul  with  always  new  increase 
of  wonder  and  awe,  and  often  and  persistently  my 
thought  busies  itself  with  these : with  the  starry 
heaven  above  me  and  the  moral  law  within  me.  . . . 


106  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 


“ The  first  glance  at  an  innumerable  multitude  of 
worlds  annihilates  my  importance  as  an  animal  crea- 
ture that  must  give  back  the  matter  of  which  it  was 
made  to  the  planet  — itself  a mere  point  in  the  uni- 
verse — after  it  has  been  for  a short  time,  wre  know 
not  how  short,  endowed  with  vital  force. 

“ The  second  glance,  on  the  contrary,  exalts  my 
worth  as  an  intelligence  infinitely,  through  my  per- 
sonality in  which  the  moral  law  reveals  to  me  a life 
independent  of  animal  nature  and  even  of  the  whole 
universe  of  sense,  at  least  so  far  as  the  end  of  my  ex- 
istence is  determined  by  this  law,  which  is  not  limited 
within  the  conditions  and  limits  of  this  life,  but  goes 
on  into  infinitude.”  It  is  the  relation  of  personality 
to  truth,  to  principle,  to  moral  law,  that  evolved  this 
expression  of  reverence  from  Kant,  a reverence  that 
may  reasonably  be  taken  as  the  gauge  of  his  great- 
ness. 

“ Honor  thy  father  and  mother,”  says  the  com- 
mandment, “ that  thy  days  may  be  long  in  the  land 
which  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee.”  This  com- 
mandment and  that  upon  Sabbath-keeping  are  the 
only  affirmative  injunctions  in  the  decalogue,  that 
wonderfully  comprehensive  and  exact  digest  of  hu- 
man duty.  Both  of  these  inculcate  mainly,  I may 
say  wholly,  reverence,  but  not  less  than  the  first,  sec- 
ond, and  third  commandments,  — so  that  the  first  half 
of  the  decalogue  is  wholly  devoted  to  the  enforcement 
of  reverence.  It  is  thus  the  voice  of  God  that  says 
here  that  reverence  is  the  basis,  the  foundation  of 
noble  character ; out  of  reverence  for  what  is  holy, 
true,  and  rightly  authoritative  will  grow  the  fullest 
virtue.  Our  Lord,  in  giving  his  disciples  that  simple 
prayer  that  has  been  the  most  potent  symbol  of  unity 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  107 


for  an  ever-enlarging  church,  and  which  on  the  lips 
of  a little  child,  or  arising  from  a great  congrega- 
tion, brings  to  him  who  will  hear  aright  convincing 
proof  of  Jesus’  divine  insight,  postulates  reverence 
in  man  as  the  initial  condition  for  seeking  the  bless- 
ing of  God.  He  has  no  right  to  ask  for  daily  bread 
or  forgiveness  who  has  not  first  prayed,  who  does  not 
by  his  constant  thought  pray,  that  God’s  name  may  be 
hallowed,  and  that  his  blessed  kingdom  may  come. 
Profanity,  the  trifling  with  the  name  by  which  the  Su- 
preme Being  is  known  to  man,  or  with  that  other  name 
of  the  fuller  revelation,  “ at  which  every  knee  shall 
bow,”  — such  profanity  is  the  mark  of  a hardened,  im- 
bruted  soul.  It  is  to  such  an  one  that  it  was  said, 
“ If  the  light  that  is  in  thee  be  darkness,  how  great  is 
that  darkness ! ” 

In  every  true  theory  of  religion  reverence  must 
have  a large  place.  When  Schleiermacher  defined 
religion  as  “ a feeling  of  absolute  dependence,”  he 
doubtless  intended  to  give  reverence  due  recognition. 
But  it  was  perfectly  reasonable  for  the  Duke  of  Argyle 
to  remark,  in  criticising  this  definition,  that  a man 
carried  off  in  a flood  and  clinging  to  a log  of  wood 
must  have  a painful  sense  of  absolute  dependence  on 
the  log.  But  no  one  would  think  of  describing  this 
sense  as  a religious  feeling. 

In  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer’s  striking  paper  on  “ Re- 
ligion, a Retrospect  and  a Prospect,”  there  is  in  like 
manner  a missing  of  this  large  element  in  the  relig- 
ious sentiment.  Mr.  Spencer  certainly  seems  to  iden- 
tify wonder  with  the  religious  sentiment.  That  is  an 
eloquent  passage  in  which  he  says  : “ Nor  is  it  in  the 
primitive  peoples,  who  supposed  that  the  heavens  rested 
on  the  mountain  tops,  any  more  than  in  the  modern 


108  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 


inheritors  of  their  cosmogony,  who  repeat  that  4 the 
heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,’  that  we  find  the 
largest  conceptions  of  the  universe  or  the  greatest 
amount  of  wonder  excited  by  the  contemplation  of  it. 
Rather  it  is  in  the  astronomer,  who  sees  in  the  sun  a 
mass  so  vast  that  even  into  one  of  his  spots  our  earth 
might  be  plunged  without  touching  its  edges,  and  who 
by  every  finer  telescope  is  shown  an  increased  multi- 
tude of  such  suns,  many  of  them  far  larger.”  I will 
not  dispute  the  assertion  that  the  profoundest  astron- 
omer feels  44  the  greatest  amount  of  wonder,”  though 
it  is  possible  that  a supercilious  disdain  of  wonder,  so 
far  as  that  word  means  a confession  of  limitation, 
often  characterizes  the  learned  specialist.  But  won- 
der and  religious  feeling  are  not  the  same.  One 
may  wonder  at  the  tricks  of  a conjurer  or  at  the  con- 
fused jargon  of  a lunatic,  but  there  is  scarcely  religious 
feeling  in  this  wonder. 

When  certain  philosophers  tell  us  that  there  is  some- 
thing transcending  all  personality,  infinitely  higher 
than  any  possible  personality,  they  strike  a blow  at 
the  root  of  all  religion.  Admirably  has  the  Duke  of 
Argyle  said,  44  If  there  be  one  truth  more  certain  than 
another,  one  conclusion  more  securely  founded  than 
another,  not  on  reason  only,  but  on  every  other  faculty 
of  our  nature,  it  is  this,  that  there  is  nothing  but  mind 
that  we  can  respect ; nothing  but  heart  that  we  can 
love;  nothing  but  a perfect  combination  of  the  two 
that  we  can  adore.”  Adoration  and  reverence,  as  pro- 
ceeding from  the  religious  sentiment,  involve  person- 
ality in  the  power  towards  which  they  go  forth ; but 
the  substitution  of  wonder  for  reverence  results  in  the 
elimination  of  personality  from  the  Supreme  Being : 
the  reduction  of  God  to  an  infinite  and  eternal  energy, 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE . 109 


from  which  all  things  may  proceed,  but  with  which  we 
can  have  no  more  common  terms  than  with  the  ocean 
or  the  sun.  Can  one,  except  in  the  loosest  sense,  rev- 
erence the  ocean,  its  vastness,  its  stores  of  life,  its 
power,  its  ferocity?  Can  one,  except  in  the  loosest 
sense,  worship  the  sun,  its  flames,  its  vapors,  its  nour- 
ishing but  destroying  heat?  It  was  possible  once, 
when  knowledge  was  in  its  infancy,  for  the  Persians 
to  worship  this  great  source  of  light  and  life.  But 
the  astronomer  who  sees  in  the  sun  a mass  so  vast 
that  even  into  one  of  its  spots  our  earth  might  be 
plunged  without  touching  its  edges,  can  even  this 
astronomer  reverence  what  he  knows  to  be  “ nothing 
but  a ball  of  fire  ” ? 

Usually  where  wonder  usurps  the  place  of  rever- 
ence, egotism  usurps  the  place  of  worship.  He  who 
finds  no  being  in  the  universe  to  revere  naturally  re- 
gards himself  as  the  highest  outcome  of  existence. 

It  is  a beautiful  touch  in  the  sweet  lament  of  Tenny- 
son over  his  friend  to  wish  that  — 

“ The  great  world  grew  like  thee, 

Who  grewest  not  alone  in  power 
And  knowledge,  but  by  year  and  hour 
In  reverence  and  in  charity.” 

The  growth  in  reverence  in  Tennyson’s  mind  seems 
not,  in  all  cases,  to  be  simultaneous  or  coordinate,  least 
of  all  identical  with  the  growth  in  knowledge.  The 
philosopher  too  often  lacks  the  spirit  of  the  little  child. 

In  a scheme  of  necessity  there  is  strictly  no  place 
for  gradations,  and  the  primeval  polyp  is  entitled  to 
quite  as  much  wonder  as  the  intricately  fashioned, 
complexly  adjusted  man.  Nay,  perhaps,  to  more.  If 
the  perfect  man  was  in  the  primeval  atom,  we  may 
wonder  more  how  he  came  there,  than  how,  being 


110  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE . 


there,  he  managed  to  escape.  But  human  nature 
revenges  itself,  and  into  the  vacuum  which  expelled 
reverence  leaves  rushes  the  self-seeking  thought, 
the  self-complacency,  the  egotism,  that  makes  the 
brightest  intellect  repulsive,  because  it  chills  the 
warmth  of  the  heart.  “ Respect  for  the  divinity 
within  man  ” was  in  earlier  days  a watchword  with 
Carlyle.  But  that  divinity  was  revealed  at  last  as  not 
necessarily  involving  goodness.  Possibly  even  the 
moral  law  was  not  directive  of  the  unconscious  work- 
ing of  the  genius  which  he  extolled.  Do  not  the  later 
publications  justify  us  in  saying  that  his  memory  is 
less  sweet  than  if  he  had  regarded  goodness,  moral 
excellence,  rather  than  force,  as  the  highest  reality  in 
human  achievement? 

The  want  of  reverence  is  always  marked  by  the  as- 
sertion and  projection  of  self.  It  finds  its  extreme  in 
what  is  vulgarly  called  “ cheek ; ” and  this  extreme, 
as  opposed  to  reverence,  is  the  curse  and  badge  of  too 
much  American  life.  It  takes  the  fine  polish  from 
manners.  An  egotism  that  disregards  conventionality 
may  be  as  mean  as  a cruelty  that  tramples  on  sensi- 
tivity. The  man  or  the  boy  who  breaks  a written  or 
an  unwritten  law  that  conduces  to  the  enjoyment  of 
society,  simply  because  it  suits  his  wilfulness  to  do  it, 
or  gratifies  his  desire  of  pleasure  at  the  expense  of  a 
fellow-being’s  rights,  may  sometimes  have  the  show  of 
reverence,  but  little  of  the  substance  ; may  have  ad- 
miration for  beauty,  but  little  honor  for  goodness.  In 
one  of  George  Eliot’s  earlier  books,  the  clergyman 
who  removes  his  boots  that  he  may  go  softly  into  the 
room  of  the  invalid  proves  by  that  act  that  he  is  a 
gentleman,  and  shows  so  far  his  fitness  to  minister  at 
God’s  altar. 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  Ill 


He  who  has  no  reverence  for  law  as  an  expression 
of  the  consensus  of  past  generations,  or  does  not 
clearly  recognize  that  limitation  is  in  order  for  every 
sentient  being,  will  lift  his  volition  in  disregard  of 
property,  and  may  imagine  in  his  arrogance  that  he  is 
happy.  But  the  mark  of  Ishmael  is  upon  him,  and 
neither  high  birth,  nor  learning,  nor  wealth  can  give 
him  the  place  of  a gentleman. 

Nothing  seems  to  indicate  so  certainly  the  decadence 
of  a people  as  the  loss  of  its  ideals.  In  a prosperous 
democracy  there  are  constant  tendencies  to  the  extinc- 
tion of  reverence.  It  is  an  evil  hour  when  the  journals, 
the  most  potent  educators,  make  no  discrimination 
as  to  the  admission  of  items  ; wdiere  everything  fair 
and  foul  is  spread  out  in  all  its  details.  But  it  is  a 
more  evil  hour  when  the  columns  are  crowded  with 
stories  of  murder  and  suicide  and  rape  and  incest 
and  defalcation,  and  small  place  is  left  for  the  ex- 
hibition of  true  ideals,  for  the  enforcement  of  first 
principles,  for  the  statement  of  the  true  conditions  of 
the  world,  and  for  the  stories  of  daily  self-denial.  As 
now  the  people  are  all  readers,  what  will  be  the  effect 
of  such  a training  ? There  are  newspapers  that  make 
discriminations;  but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  un- 
trained minds  choose  the  sensational,  and  that  a met- 
ropolitan newspaper  is  led  by  the  public  taste  to  pre- 
sent much  that  were  better  unfamiliar  to  the  young. 
The  revelations  last  year  of  the  “ Pall  Mall  Gazette  ” 
may  have  been,  probably  were,  intended  to  promote 
the  interests  of  virtue,  but  the  subtle  poison  of  im- 
purity lurks  in  the  very  recital  of  certain  deeds,  and 
the  enkindled  desire  to  see  for  one’s  self  what  is  going 
on,  as  the  saying  is,  is  sometimes,  at  least,  the  precursor 
of  ruin. 


112  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE . 


In  the  French  Academy  there  are  prizes  for  good- 
ness. The  humble  peasant  who  has  shown  heroic 
devotion  to  his  once  prosperous  but  now  impover- 
ished employer ; the  brave  soldier  who  rescues  many 
from  drowning  ; the  hospitable  peasant  and  wife  who 
have  received  for  years  the  daily  procession  of  wan- 
dering pilgrims,  and  fed  and  clothed  little  children 
and  put  shoes  and  stockings  on  their  feet,  are  sought 
out  and  honored  with  medals  and  prizes.  And  when 
the  learning  and  culture  of  France  meet  at  the  public 
session  of  the  Institute,  such  deeds  are  recited  in 
touching  eloquence,  and  the  scholar  and  the  author 
give  their  applause  to  the  obscure  ones  who  have  had 
more  than  tears  of  sympathy,  even  long-continued  self- 
denial  for  the  suffering.  The  newspapers  of  the  next 
day  contain  these  stories,  and  for  one  day  each  year 
there  is  a break  in  the  Parisian  record,  and  the  recital 
of  good  deeds  in  a few  of  the  journals,  at  least,  receives 
much  attention.  The  reverence  for  goodness,  as  a 
quality  in  others,  will  not  be  wholly  obliterated  even 
in  minds  that  do  not  practise  it,  and  in  the  most  im- 
pure civilization  there  may  be  seven  thousand  who 
revere  the  Author  of  goodness  ; but  I fear  that  the 
few  good  deeds,  honored  and  proclaimed  each  year  by 
the  French  Academy,  have  no  great  power  in  evoking 
virtue  and  keeping  the  ideals  before  the  people  over 
against  the  millions  of  crimes  that  the  French  jour- 
nals record.  A brave  deed  done  in  Chicago  or  New 
Orleans  or  Paris  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours  I 
would  gladly  hear,  but  why  should  all  the  world,  or 
even  all  my  own  country,  lay  down  its  crime  beside 
my  breakfast-plate  ? It  may  not  harm  me.  I do  not 
read  it,  but  too  many  immature  minds  have  their  fine 
sensitiveness  dulled  by  this  attrition.  That  public 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  113 


sentiment  is  to  blame  for  this  state  of  things  does 
not  make  the  effect  more  wholesome.  And  this  cur- 
rent of  news  is  no  longer  arrested  one  day  in  the 
week.  This  age  esteemeth  every  day  alike.  The  holy 
day  has  become  a holiday,  or  rather  seems  passing 
through  the  holiday  stage  to  become  a common  day. 
This  publicity  and  exaggerated  emphasis  of  petty  or 
foul  details  has  not  been  without  some  good  results. 
It  has  helped  the  civil -service  reformers.  It  has  im- 
proved the  outward  condition  of  the  laborers.  It 
has  conduced  to  sanitary  improvements,  and  has  set 
up  certain  ideal  standards.  But  these  standards 
were  related  to  physical  and  political  well-being,  to 
material  comforts  mainly.  Exhibiting  a true  regard 
for  the  rights  of  man,  these  journals  have  taught  the 
influential  to  look  downward  and  outward.  They 
have  not  so  much  promoted  the  looking  upward  in 
the  classes  whose  gospel  they  have  become,  or  em- 
phasized the  value  of  goodness  and  the  law  of  love  as 
binding  on  all  classes.  If  you  would  keep  your  minds 
pure  and  maintain  the  reverence  for  those  examples 
which  will  keep  society  pure,  learn  to  pass  by  the 
worthless  details  of  festivities,  intrigues,  and  crimes 
which  the  paper  puts  into  your  hands,  and  keep  your 
thought  and  memory  for  the  statistics  and  valuable 
facts  in  bringing  which  to  your  knowledge  the  journal 
is  of  immense  service.  It  would  be  well  to  keep  a file 
of  a metropolitan  daily  American  and  of  a weekly 
English  paper,  as  soon  and  as  long  as  you  can.  The 
sources  of  the  history  of  the  immense  changes  in  the 
world  are  in  these  papers. 

When  the  ideals  are  once  shattered,  there  is  nothing 
more  commonplace  than  their  fragments.  The  Venus 
of  Melos  or  the  Otricoli  Zeus  broken  to  pieces  are 


114 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 


bits  of  common  stone.  Possibly  a distant  age  may 
gather  up  tenderly  and  recombine  the  features,  if 
they  are  not  too  finely  pulverized ; but  the  blind  rage 
of  the  Thirty  Years’  War  reduced  most  precious  mon- 
uments to  dust.  The  question,  What  is  that  which 
itself  destroys  that  which  it  produces  ? might  be  an- 
swered, A nation.  In  the  days  of  its  reverence  it 
builds  sacred  monuments,  which  in  the  days  of  its  de- 
cadence it  destroys.  There  was  little  outward  splen- 
dor — the  lictors  and  the  rods  — about  the  consuls  in 
the  days  of  the  Scipios,  if  it  be  compared  with  the  dis- 
play of  the  Caesars ; but  there  was  more  honor  felt  for 
the  Scipios  than  for  a Nero,  a Galba,  a Vitellius,  or  a 
Domitian.  The  degradation  of  the  empire  was  incar- 
nate in  such  emperors.  Who  could  revere  sensual- 
ity, brutality,  and  disease?  Galba’s  hands  and  feet 
were  so  distorted  by  gout  that  he  could  neither  open 
a volume  nor  wear  shoes.  “ Otho,”  says  Tacitus, 
speaking  of  the  crisis  of  his  life,  “ courted  empire 
with  the  demeanor  of  a slave.”  No  words  to  an  an- 
cient Roman  could  have  signified  greater  degeneracy. 
The  head  of  the  Roman  state  fawning  on  the  common 
soldiers,  kissing  his  hands  to  the  noisy  mob  with  the 
demeanor  of  a slave  ! Antony’s  words  over  the  dead 
Caesar  might  well  express  the  lament  of  a noble  Ro- 
man in  the  final  degenerate  days,  if  we  substitute  the 
Roman  state  for  Caesar : — 

“ But  yesterday  the  word  of  Caesar  might 

Have  stood  against  the  world  : now  lies  he  there, 

And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence.” 

By  such  momentous  contrasts  does  history  teach  the 
value  of  purity,  reverence,  and  faith. 

It  is  not  uncommon  to  hear  nowadays  the  demand 
that  college  prayers  be  abolished,  or,  at  least,  made 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  115 


voluntary,  which,  I fear,  means  much  the  same  as 
abolition.1  In  a college  where  everything  else  is  vol- 
untary, it  may  seem  that  there  is  no  reason  why  prayers 
should  be  compulsory ; but  if  the  relinquishment  of 
compulsory  worship  should  mean  that  the  lesson  of 
reverence  for  the  Author  of  goodness  and  for  his 
condescension  would  no  longer  be  taught,  even  the 
thoughtful  agnostic  might  well  hesitate  to  give  the 
coup  de  grace  to  the  requirement  of  fifteen  minutes 
of  daily  worship. 

An  accomplished  gentleman,  now  a professor  in 
Yale  College,  discovered  a few  years  ago,  in  a book 
in  the  Yale  library,  a leaf  from  a monitor’s  report, 
giving  the  attendance  and  absence  of  twenty-three 
students  at  Harvard  College  for  one  week  of  the  aca- 
demical year  1663-64.  He  made  of  this  leaflet  an 
interesting  paper,  which  was  read  before  the  Massa- 
chusetts Historical  Society,  and  printed  among  their 
papers.  It  is  curious  to  observe  that  the  absences 
from  the  Sunday  morning  and  Sunday  evening  prayer 
are  decidedly  less  than  from  the  morning  and  evening 
prayer  of  any  other  day.  But,  more  striking  still,  is 
the  fact  that  the  absences  from  the  two  long  preaching 
services  on  that  same  Lord’s  day,  between  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  prayers,  are  reduced  to  a minimum. 
There  is  but  one  absence  from  these  two  services. 
When  one  considers  that  a Sunday  service  at  that 
period  was  by  usage  allowed  three  hours,  and  was 
rarely  less  than  two  hours  in  duration,  and  that  the 
college  prayer  must  have  occupied  on  the  average 

1 It  should  be  noted  that  these  words  on  college  prayers  were  writ- 
ten several  months  before  the  change  from  compulsory  to  voluntary 
prayers  was  made  at  Harvard.  No  one  could  be  more  heartily  glad 
than  the  author  if  the  experiment  there  making  should  result  in  a 
healthy  condition  of  college  religious  service. 


116  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 

thirty  minutes,  it  is  seen  that  from  five  to  seven  hours 
of  religious  worship,  or  the  semblance  of  worship, 
were  exacted  of  the  Harvard  students  two  hundred 
and  twenty  years  ago.  It  certainly  appears  from  this 
report  that  the  sickness  now  so  common  on  Sundays 
in  colleges  where  compulsory  attendance  on  prayers 
and  worship  exists  had  nothing  corresponding  to  it  in 
those  days ; that  the  Sundays  were  rather  days  char- 
acterized by  a sudden  accession  of  physical  vigor, 
as  otherwise  the  young  men  who  had  been  absent, 
presumably  from  illness,  on  the  immediately  preceding 
days  would  hardly  have  advanced  in  such  unbroken 
ranks  to  the  arduous  labors  of  the  Lord’s  day.  That 
such  attendance  was  arduous,  and  that  some  students 
were  quite  exhausted  by  it,  may  be  inferred  from  the 
fact  that  numerous  absences  are  recorded  as  occurring 
on  the  next  Monday  morning  prayers. 

What  I do  really  infer  from  that  monitor’s  report 
is  something  confirmed  by  many  other  signs,  that  for- 
mal religious  worship  has  now  everywhere  lost  its 
hold,  as  compared  with  two  hundred  years  ago.  I do 
not  affirm  that  this  is  wholly  bad.  I do  not  say 
that  these  days  are  not  better  than  those ; but  the 
expression  of  reverence  tends  to  keep  the  sentiment 
alive,  and  I beg  you  not  to  believe  that  there  is  any- 
thing degrading  or  dishonorable  to  any  student  if  the 
institution  which  he  enters  require  him  once  a day  to 
lift  his  thought  away  from  merely  secular  discipline 
for  a few  moments  in  the  recognition  of  the  Maker  of 
heaven  and  earth,  or  in  honor  of  the  Christ  whose  life 
and  death  have  made  the  world  so  much  nobler  and 
sweeter  for  you  and  me.  So  long  as  I uncover  my 
head  in  recognition  of  the  purity  and  grace  of  true 
womanhood,  so  long  as  I lift  my  hat  before  any  wise 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE . 117 


and  gracious  teacher,  so  long  would  I reverently  ac- 
knowledge the  relations  which  I,  as  a member  of  an 
institution,  sustain  to  Him  in  whose  honor  and  for 
whose  service  that  institution  was  founded.  Nor  is 
there  anything  more  compulsory  in  the  one  case  than 
in  the  other.  I do  not  uncover  my  head  to  purity  in 
woman  or  nobility  in  man  except  in  accordance  with 
the  usage  of  the  society  in  which  I live.  I may  do  it 
voluntarily  or  reluctantly ; but  there  is  a law  of  so- 
ciety which  I do  not  disobey  without  suffering  the 
penalty.  I can,  if  I choose,  be  a boor,  but  I shall 
have  the  boor’s  reputation.  An  educational  institu- 
tion not  bound  by  accepted  trusts  can  throw  off  for- 
mal reverence,  and  there  are  many  who  do  it ; but  if 
a college  is,  by  its  history,  pledged  to  maintain  re- 
quired worship,  and  I enter  that  college,  and  am  a 
participant  in  its  privileges  and  its  honors,  I acquire 
no  right  to  denounce  or  oppose  its  worship.  It  is  the 
indifference  of  our  students  — and  sometimes  of  alumni 
— to  the  history  of  the  past  and  to  the  opinions  and 
enactments  of  the  older  and  wiser,  who  have  the  re- 
sponsibility of  historic  trusts,  that,  issuing  in  a rude 
iconoclasm,  causes  anxiety  for  the  future.  It  is  better 
to  endure  a good  deal  that  is  irksome  than  to  show 
a complete  disregard  for  the  convictions  of  those  of 
whose  self-denial  we  reap  the  golden  fruits. 

I have  thought  that  the  students  of  this  decade  in 
the  nineteenth  century  are  less  respectful  towards  dig- 
nitaries than  those  of  two  centuries  ago.  But  it  is  an 
assertion  of  the  third  president  of  Harvard  College, 
Leonard  Hoar,  that  Cotton  Mather  records  that  “ the 
rectorship  of  a college  is  a troublesome  thing.”  It  is 
from  him  that  he  quotes  that  that  scholarly  sceptre  has 
more  care  than  gold  ( plus  curce  quam  auri ),  more 


118  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 

bother  than  silver  ( plus  sollicitudinis  quam  argenti ). 
“ The  young  olive  plants  turned  cudweeds,  and,  with 
great  violations  of  the  fifth  commandment,  set  to 
travestie  all  that  he  said  and  did.”  Mather  adds  that 
“ several  very  good  men  did  improperly  countenance 
the  ungoverned  youth  in  their  ungovernableness.” 
Alas  ! the  combination  between  good  men  and  cud- 
weeds is  apt  to  exist  in  every  generation.  But  the  an- 
tagonism that  may  arise  against  an  occupant  of  high 
position  does  not  prove  that  the  position  itself  is  not 
held  in  honor.  The  agitations  that  convulsed  some 
parishes,  and  now  and  then  a college,  with  respect  to 
the  head,  were  not  incompatible  with  a profound  rev- 
erence for  clerical  authority.  A well-known  story  of 
the  Kev.  John  Bulkley,  who  was  ordained  in  1703 
minister  of  the  church  in  Colchester,  Conn.,  attests 
this  reverence  : A church,  weakened  by  internal  dis- 
sensions and  on  the  eve  of  an  open  rupture,  applied  to 
him  by  letter  for  counsel.  He  replied  ; but  he  hap- 
pened to  be  writing  also  to  a tenant  on  a distant  farm, 
and,  by  some  blunder,  the  tenant’s  letter  was  sent  to 
the  church,  and  the  church’s  letter  to  the  tenant.  The 
church  was  called  together  and  the  important  missive 
was  brought  forth.  The  presiding  officer  read  as  fol- 
lows : “ You  will  see  to  the  fences  that  they  be  high 
and  strong,  and  you  will  take  especial  care  of  the  old 
black  bull.”  The  language  seemed  a little  mystical, 
says  our  narrator  ; but  one  good  brother,  wiser  than 
the  rest,  soon  arose  and  said  : “ Brethren,  this  is  just 
what  we  need.  We  have  neglected  our  fences  too 
long : all  sorts  of  strange  cattle  have  come  in  among 
us,  and,  with  the  rest,  that  old  black  bull,  the  devil, 
who  has  made  us  all  this  trouble.  Let  us  repair  our 
fences  and  drive  him  out.”  Following  that  advice, 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  119 

from  that  day  on  the  church  prospered.  Such  was 
the  honor  paid  to  the  oracles  and  the  oracle-divers 


century  ago. 


Such  a command  over  society  as  these  clerical  mon- 
archs  exercised  was,  like  every  other  kingship,  by  the 
grace  of  God ; and  it  was  only  by  those  divines  who 
regarded  that  grace  as  the  title  to  their  crown  that 
such  a potent  sceptre  was  wielded.  For  it  is  always 
true  that  the  prevailing  quality  in  a mind  evokes  the 
same  quality  from  others.  As  iron  sharpeneth  iron, 
so  does  wit  enkindle  wit,  so  does  courage  quicken 
courage,  so  does  reverence  beget  reverence.  I recall 
certain  actors  in  the  last  decade  or  two  whose  passing 
from  the  stage  was  like  the  setting  of  a sun,  and 
seemed  to  the  cultured,  for  a time  at  least,  to  leave 
the  world  in  darkness.  There  was  Agassiz,  the  scien- 
tist, in  our  own  country,  the  key  to  whose  career  finds 
expression  in  a brief  sentence  like  this : “ A physical 
fact  is  as  sacred  as  a moral  principle ; ” and  whose 
long,  busy,  and  brilliant  life  was  in  every  act  a recog- 
nition of  divine  goodness ; who  died  (whether  we  be- 
lieve in  evolution  or  not,  we  must  admire  his  opposi- 
tion) fighting  for  the  recognition  of  the  manifestation 
of  mind  and  goodness  in  all  nature.  There  was  Gui- 
zot, the  French  publicist  and  statesman,  so  sure  of  the 
transcendent  nature  of  mind  and  of  the  immortality 
of  the  souls  in  which  purity  and  goodness  dwell,  as 
to  have  no  manner  of  doubt,  in  the  very  presence 
of  death,  that  he  should  by  and  by  meet  again  those 
whom  he  had  loved  so  tenderly,  and  from  whom  the 
temporary  separation  was  so  painful. 

There  was  the  less  known,  but  intensely  loved, 
Clerk  Maxwell,  the  English  mathematician,  gentle 
and  courteous,  but  profound,  who  had  examined  with 


120 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 


piercing  scrutiny  all  the  hypotheses  of  science  with 
regard  to  the  origin  of  the  universe,  and  pronounced 
them  all  untenable  so  far  as  they  refused  to  acknowl- 
edge a creator  of  matter,  a personal  author  of  good- 
ness in  human  life. 

There  was  Skobeleff , the  Russian  general,  who  hon- 
ored his  father  and  mother,  who  respected  the  possi- 
bilities of  greatness  in  a common  soldier,  was  devoted 
with  ardor  to  the  ideal  of  a Sclavic  empire,  and  wor- 
shipped God.  Such  reverent,  kneeling  figures  receive 
the  honors  of  mankind,  not  those  who  do  not  know 
a difference  between  mind  and  matter,  and  who  find 
in  humanity  not  merely  the  symbol,  but  the  totality 
of  divinity. 

It  was  the  same  of  one  whose  life  may  be  described 
as  an  aspiration  after,  and  attainment  of,  communion 
with  the  God  man.  It  is  said  that  several  friends, 
being  together,  and  raising  the  question  whom  of  all 
their  acquaintance  they  would  wish  to  be  with  them 
at  the  hour  of  death,  wrote,  each  and  all,  without 
knowing  what  name  the  others  wrote,  Frederick  Deni- 
son Maurice. 

So  in  literature  the  names  “ not  born  to  die  ” are  of 
those  whose  souls  were  open  to  the  coming  of  heavenly 
visions,  such  as  Homer,  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Milton, 
Wordsworth.  The  greatest  pantheist  in  literature, 
thus  far,  is  Goethe ; and  that  pantheism  turns  the 
sharp  edges  of  moral  discernment  may,  I think,  be 
learned  from  him.  But  pantheism  is  not  in  all  re- 
sults irreverent.  The  most  reverent  poem  of  the 
age,  Tennyson’s  “ In  Memoriam,”  is  the  best  beloved. 
The  most  reverent  pictures  of  the  Renaissance  have 
the  deepest  hold  on  the  heart  of  the  passing  gen- 
erations. 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  121 


One  morning,  twelve  years  ago,  a critic  stood  be- 
fore the  Sistine  Madonna  at  Dresden,  — that  picture 
which  has  been  reproduced  in  a thousand  forms,  and 
which  is  as  familiar  in  most  of  your  homes  as  the 
name  of  the  short-lived  Raphael,  its  immortal  author, 

— the  picture  in  which  the  mystery  of  the  Incarna- 
tion seems  wonderfully  expressed  in  the  deep  awe  and 
love  of  the  mother  and  the  celestial  beauty  of  the 
child.  This  critic,  standing  there,  demonstrated,  as 
he  supposed,  to  an  astonished  group  of  listeners  (but 
certainly  to  his  own  complete  satisfaction)  that  this 
picture  is  only  a second-rate  painting,  and  that  the 
multitude  who  admire  this  picture  do  not  understand 
high  art.  But  while  the  song  of  the  angels  on  the  first 
Christmas  morning  remains  the  hymn  of  the  ages,  the 
love  of  men  and  women  will  abide  with  this  highest 
expression  of  the  union  of  the  human  and  the  divine, 

— with  this  beautiful  symbol  of  the  perfect  revelation 
of  a Father’s  love  for  his  erring  children. 

Count  no  philosophy  as  true  that  does  not  include 
love,  hope,  fear ; that  does  not  issue  in  honor  for 
something  higher  than  pure  force  or  intellect,  even  for 
goodness.  Count  no  literature  as  noble  that  does  not 
regard  the  moralities,  the  everlasting  yea  and  nay, 
that  does  not  recognize  these  as  the  expression  of  a 
lawgiver.  Cold,  blase  indifference  to  the  old-fashioned 
domestic  virtues  is  not  merely  contemptuous  of  so- 
ciety, it  disobeys  the  oracle,  “ Know  thyself,”  which 
knowledge,  if  thorough,  teaches  the  reverence  of  self 
and  of  one’s  fellow-man.  The  human  race  has  in  every 
age  been  busy  with  discoverable  laws  and  methods  that 
have  existence  in  environing  matter,  but  it  has  also 
studied  itself  and  the  aspirations  that  lay  hold  of  the 
infinite.  The  solution  of  the  questions  pertaining  to 


122  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE . 

environment  come  later  and  are  of  less  importance 
than  the  answers  to  the  questions  pertaining  to  ideal 
relations  to  human  duties.  The  law  of  gravitation 
was  of  less  moment  to  man  than  the  law  of  love,  and 
something  like  the  law  of  love  has  found  utterance  in 
very  early  thinkers  on  morals.  The  inculcation  of 
reverence  is  as  old  as  the  monotheism  of  the  Hebrews, 
and  has  still  in  their  documents  most  vigorous  pro- 
moters. Reverence,  as  there  taught,  is  the  highest 
activity  of  the  moral  nature,  knowing  and  admiring 
u the  divine  impersonation  of  Truth,  Beauty,  and 
Goodness : ” the  supreme,  energizing  Reason,  on 
whom  the  universe  depends. 

Young  gentlemen  of  Phillips  Academy,  I fear  you 
may  regard  me  as  preaching  you  a sermon,  but  I can- 
not finish  this  address  without  giving  a little  sharper 
point  to  my  sentences.  Dr.  James  Martineau,  in  his 
recent  admirable  book,  entitled,  “ Types  of  Ethical 
Theory,”  enumerates  the  primary  sentiments  as  three 
in  ascending  order : “ W onder  asking  for  causality, 
Admiration  directed  upon  beauty,  and  Reverence 
looking  up  to  transcendent  goodness.”  All  that  I 
have  said  has  been  intended  to  enforce  this  division 
and  order  of  gradations,  to  make  plain  that  the  nation 
or  the  man,  be  he  philosopher,  statesman,  author,  or 
artist,  failing  in  reverence,  — - the  highest  sentiment 
that  can  animate  our  nature, — misses  the  crown  of 
true  greatness.  Young  men  of  your  age  are  not  usu- 
ally deficient  in  reverence.  “ Hold  fast  that  thou 
hast  that  no  man  take  thy  crown,”  is  a word  that 
may  well  have  reference  to  reverence.  If  your  think- 
ing should  be  governed  only  by  the  search  for  causes, 
if  your  reverence  should  give  place  to  mere  wonder, 
you  will  dwell  in  the  dark  caverns  of  materialistic 


THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE.  123 

philosophy,  where  many  in  these  days  are  proud  to 
dwell,  or  you  will,  perhaps,  reach  a blank  agnosticism, 
— a lonely  island  in  a shoreless  sea. 

But  there  is  a more  subtle  danger  awaiting  you. 
The  cold  mechanism  of  unfeeling  thought  has  dwarfed 
thousands,  but  the  admiration  for  beauty  has  poisoned 
tens  of  thousands.  Literature  and  art  have  their  fas- 
cinations, and,  when  guided  by  a reverent  spirit,  are 
incalculable  blessings  to  human  life.  But  so  deceit- 
fully similar  in  outward  appearance  is  the  delight  in 
beauty  to  the  enthusiasm  for  goodness,  that  men  in 
all  ages  have  been  inclined  to  substitute  beauty  for 
goodness.  Goodness  exacts  obedience,  self  - denial. 
You  may  be  an  acute  critic  without  great  imagina- 
tion. You  cannot  keep  the  deepest  reverence  with- 
out a good  conscience.  You  may  become  a Hellenist, 
and  your  ethics  may  be  merged  in  aesthetics.  Tito 
Melema,  in  George  Eliot’s  “ Romola,”  illustrates  the 
career  and  tragic  end  of  one  who  subordinates  moral 
excellence  to  sesthetical  enjoyment.  Wonder  and  ad- 
miration were  the  leading  motives  in  the  brilliant 
intellectual  life  of  the  Greeks.  Did  they  not  give 
hemlock  to  goodness  and  ostracize  the  just?  You 
may  lament  with  Schiller  the  gods  of  Greece,  or  pro- 
claim with  Matthew  Arnold  that  the  Christ  is  dead. 
Pessimism  will  subtly  tinge  your  thinking,  as  you 
linger  about  decaying  pagan  shrines  or  crumbling 
monasteries  ; but  I am  not  sure  that  the  virile  Titan- 
ism  of  agnostic  wonder  is  not  better  than  this  elegiac 
admiration.  Would  you  be  more  than  seekers  for 
causes  or  admirers  of  beauty,  even  men  ? Then  obey 
moral  law  and  keep  your  highest  reverence  for  the 
Author  of  goodness,  and  for  that  form  of  goodness, 
self-denial  for  others,  on  which  He  has  set  the  highest 


124  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  REVERENCE. 


value.  Read  and  study  the  lives  of  men  who  have 
been  heroically  good.  Pay  deference,  not  patronage, 
to  the  good,  to  the  wisdom  of  old  age,  to  the  purity  of 
womanhood,  to  the  confiding  sweetness  of  childhood. 
Do  not  think  that  worship  is  childish  : it  is  manly ; it 
is  the  highest  act  of  manhood,  if  the  object  worshipped 
be  supremely  good.  Remember  that  “ our  personal 
ideal  stretches  wider  with  the  stature  of  the  beings  we 
behold.”  Remember  this  parting  word : The  most 
valuable  books  that  have  been  written  for  the  race  are 
the  simple  lives  by  the  four  Evangelists  of  Jesus 
Christ,  because,  at  the  lowest  estimate,  they  are  the 
records  of  a perfect  life  wholly  consecrated  to  the  de- 
velopment of  goodness  in  other  lives ; the  records  of  a 
life  laid  down  joyfully  with  sublime  passion  and  agony 
in  the  fulfilment  of  that  mission.  These  books,  above 
all  others,  will  develop  in  you,  if  carefully  studied,  the 
humility  and  reverence  that,  with  their  offspring,  are 
the  noblest  characteristics  of  man. 


MEN:  MADE,  SELF-MADE,  AND  UN- 
MADE. 


There  are  forms  of  life,  both  vegetable  and  ani- 
mal, including  certain  races  of  men,  that  seem  to  be 
steadily  deteriorating  and  to  be  destined  in  due  time 
to  become  extinct.  Possibly  deterioration  and  ulti- 
mate extinction  is  to  be  the  fate  of  every  form  of  life 
now  on  earth.  But  there  are  species  of  life,  vegeta- 
ble, animal,  and  human,  that  through  an  indefinitely 
long  past  have  steadily  improved  and  are  still  devel- 
oping into  higher  types.  This  is  clearly  the  case  with 
certain  races  of  men.  Their  present  stage  in  the  scale 
of  being  is  every  way  higher  than  it  was  twenty  cen- 
turies ago  ; no  reason  yet  appears  why  they  may  not 
continue  to  rise  for  centuries  to  come. 

Whatever  may  be  the  influence  of  environment  on 
progress,  whether  of  individuals  or  nations,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  none  ever  rise  without  the  attractive  power 
of  ideals.  Rational  beings  never  rise  except  through 
aspirations  after  something  ideally  better  than  has  yet 
been  attained.  All  peoples  and  individuals  alike  have 
their  ideals,  and  these  determine  the  steps  of  charac- 
ter realized  by  them  in  life.  Ideals  and  types  are  al- 
ways the  counterparts  of  each  other.  Knowing  one,  we 
may  safely  infer  the  other.  The  type  is  the  index  of 
the  ideal ; the  ideal  is  the  formative  power  of  the  type. 


126  MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE. 

National  ideals  and  types  are,  of  course,  immeasur- 
ably broader  and  more  composite  than  those  of  indi- 
viduals. An  indefinite  number  of  individuals  may  be 
taken  from  the  same  people,  every  one  of  whom  in 
character  and  mind  shall  present  a marked  individual- 
ity of  type,  and  yet  the  wider  national  type  will  so 
override  the  individual  as  to  stamp  them  all  with  a 
common  likeness.  The  Englishmen  will  all  be  unmis- 
takably English  ; the  Frenchmen,  French ; the  Ger- 
mans, German  ; distinguishable  not  half  so  much  by 
differences  of  language  as  by  diversities  in  type  of 
thought,  life,  and  character. 

Innumerable  varieties  of  ideals,  national,  tribal, 
and  individual,  have  had  sway  in  the  world,  and  in- 
numerable diversities  of  character  are  exhibited  in 
history.  The  North  American  Indian  has  had  his 
ideals  of  life,  and  has  presented  the  Indian,  type  of 
character ; the  modern  Parisian  has  his  ideals  and 
presents  his  type ; the  old  Roman  of  the  days  of  the 
Republic  and  the  Athenian  of  the  time  of  Plato  had 
theirs,  and  their  types  are  distinctly  pictured  in  his- 
tory. All  these,  and  thousands  of  others,  have  con- 
tributed and  are  now  contributing  to  the  ideals  that 
are  drawing  our  race  onward  and  upward  in  its  prog- 
ress. But  of  all  that  has  been  contributed  towards 
the  making  up  of  the  higher  ideals  now  ruling  in  the 
world,  nothing  is  to  be  compared  with  the  teachings 
of  Christianity.  Teaching  first  of  all,  as  a funda- 
mental truth,  the  blood-relationship  of  all  races  of 
men,  Christianity  commands  every  human  being  to 
cultivate,  to  the  utmost  of  his  ability,  the  development 
of  every  power  of  his  soul  in  harmony  with  every 
other.  In  no  other  literature  of  the  world  do  we  find 
so  exhaustively  comprehensive  a statement  of  all  that 


MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE.  127 

is  requisite  to  the  completest  or  most  perfect  manhood 
as  we  find  in  the  writings  of  the  New  Testament.  In 
these  writings  are  also  brief  compends  of  injunctions 
looking  towards  the  highest  manhood.  Thus,  at  one 
time,  it  is  enjoined  on  us  to  give  earnest  heed  to  what- 
soever things  are  true,  or  honest,  or  just,  or  pure,  or 
lovely,  or  of  good  report,  and  to  whatever  else  good 
men,  the  world  over,  have  regarded  as  a virtue  or  as 
praiseworthy.  Again,  we  have  an  inventory  of  the 
characteristics  of  a perfect  manhood  in  the  injunctions 
to  “ add  to  our  faith  virtue,  and  to  virtue  knowledge, 
and  to  knowledge  temperance,  and  to  temperance 
patience,  and  to  patience  godliness,  and  to  godliness 
brotherly  kindness,  and  to  brotherly  kindness  charity.” 
At  the  foundation  of  all  true  character  is  an  unshrink- 
ing faith  in  the  unseen,  that  underlies  and  gives  mean- 
ing to  all  that  the  senses  make  us  acquainted  with ; 
and  on  this  faith  rests  a solid  structure  of  virtues, 
crowned  and  held  together  and  beautified  by  an  all- 
embracing  charity.  / 

The  highest  ideal  of  manhood  that  the  world  has 
yet  seen  now  hovers  before  the  minds  of  the  Christian 
nations.  But,  alas ! how  extremely  small  the  number 
of  those  who  ever  approximate  a realization  of  it. 
With  Herodotus  of  old,  we  may  exclaim  : “ Plenty 
of  men  but  few  MEN  (IIoAA.06  p\v  av0po)7roL,  oAiyot  Se 
a vSpcs')”  Geniuses  may  shoot  above  the  common  level, 
but  they  do  not  fill  out  the  ideals  of  men.  The  ideal 
man  is  he  in  whom  eyery  endowment  of  his  being  is 
developed  in  harmony  with  every  other,  and  each  to 
the  highest  degree  of  which  all  are  capable. 

The  one  great  aim  of  all  education  is,  of  course,  to 
secure  the  highest  style  of  men.  In  strict  accord  with 
a people’s  conception  of  the  highest  style  will  always 


128  MEN : MADE , SELF-MADE , ^VZ>  UNMADE. 

be  its  methods  of  education ; and  the  nearer  its  ap- 
proach to  a realization  of  its  conception,  the  more  ex- 
act and  philosophical  will  be  its  educational  methods. 
The  greatest  glory  of  any  nation,  country,  or  time  is 
its  great  men,  — men  who  are  great,  not  alone  by 
great  talents  or  by  deeds  of  great  daring,  but  by  great 
excellence  of  character  and  by  nobleness  of  purposes 
and  acts.  To  multiply  for  itself  such  men  is  the  great 
aim  of  a people’s  system  of  education. 

The  most  elaborate  training,  however,  quite  too  often 
fails  to  produce  first-rate  men.  Not  unfrequently  per- 
sons of  high  mental  endowments  leave  our  educational 
institutions  crowned  with  academic  honors  only  to 
drop  at  once  into  the  ranks  of  the  commonplace  and 
the  forgotten.  Criticisms  of  our  educational  methods 
abound,  and  bitter  complaints  are  heard  on  every 
hand  that  they  fail  to  secure  to  those  subjected  to 
them  the  efficiency  and  power  of  leadership  which  the 
educated  are  rightfully  expected  to  possess.  Not  a 
few  of  the  liberally  educated,  failing  in  what  they 
have  undertaken  in  life,  are  sneered  at  as  the  legiti- 
mate product  of  the  schools  and  colleges.  They  have 
all  of  the  form,  but  none  of  the  power,  of  well-trained 
men.  They  are  made  men,  who  have  been  spoiled  in 
the  making.  And  what  is  it  that  has  spoiled  them  ? 

The  cause  of  failure  doubtless  sometimes  lies  in 
poor  teaching.  Some  teachers  have  a marvellous  fac- 
ulty for  repressing  rather  than  educing  the  powers 
of  their  pupils.  They  treat  their  pupils  as  the  mule- 
teer treats  his  mules : most  approving  them  when  they 
are  most  passive  and  docile  in  receiving  and  carrying 
their  packs.  They  seem  to  suppose  that  the  true 
function  of  the  teacher  is  to  impart  rather  than  to 
draw  out  and  stimulate  to  acquisition.  Languages, 


MEN : MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE . 129 


especially  the  ancient  classics,  are  too  often  taught  as 
anatomists  sometimes  teach  physiology,  solely  by  dis- 
section. The  languages  are  treated  as  if  they  were 
literally,  what  they  often  are  called,  dead  languages ; 
as  if,  having  long  ago  served  their  purpose  as  living 
tongues,  their  only  use  to  us  now  is  as  illustrations  of 
grammatical  principles ; and  when  they  have  served 
this  purpose  to  the  student,  he  is  left  to  feel  that,  like 
the  student  of  physiology  with  the  cadaver  when  he 
is  through  with  it,  nothing  else  is  to  be  done  but  to 
shovel  the  remains  out  of  sight.  Excessive  doses  of 
grammar  have  destroyed  the  appetite  of  many  a stu- 
dent for  the  classics,  so  that  he  has  dropped  them  from 
the  day  he  ceased  to  study  them  in  college.  Another 
source  of  irreparable  mischief  in  teaching  is  in  the 
careless  and  slovenly  work  of  men  who  make  of  teach- 
ing a temporary  convenience  for  earning  means  to 
take  them  on  to  something  else,  — making  it  a mere 
stepping-stone  to  other  and  more  congenial  work.  In- 
different to  everything  but  their  stipend,  they  glide 
in  the  most  perfunctory  way  through  all  their  offices 
as  teachers,  killing  by  their  very  indifference  every 
springing  germ  of  interest  in  their  scholars.  And  I 
might  add  that  others  still,  faultless  in  all  the  letter 
and  minutiae  of  scholarship,  and  with  the  best  of 
intentions  as  teachers,  but  naturally  inert  and  self- 
contained,  can  awaken  no  enthusiasm  in  others,  and 
succeed  only  in  imparting  of  their  own  inertia  to  their 
pupils. 

But  of  all  places  in  our  country  where  the  ill-effects 
of  defective  teaching  need  to  be  dwelt  on,  this  is  the 
last.  Indeed,  what  I have  said  might  be  regarded  as 
irrelevant  and  ill-timed  were  it  not  that  a character- 
ization of  the  incompetent  teaching,  so  common  in 
9 


130  MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE,  AND  UNMADE. 

some  parts  of  our  laud,  may  serve  as  a background 
on  which  the  favored  sons  of  this  institution  may  the 
more  clearly  see  and  appreciate  the  rare  excellence  of 
the  instruction  here  received. 

But  it  is  not  alone  through  faults  of  teachers  that 
so  many  of  the  educated,  so  many  of  the  graduates  of 
our  colleges,  find  themselves  unfitted  for  success  in 
life.  Still  more  frequently  the  fault  has  been  entirely 
with  the  educated  themselves.  And  it  often  begins  at 
the  outset  of  student  life.  The  road  of  the  nobodies 
is  already  entered  on  when  a student  is  willing  to  let 
other  people  do  his  hard  work  for  him.  If  he  lets 
fellow-students  work  out  his  difficult  problems  for 
him,  and  unravel  for  him  the  mysteries  of  obscure 
passages  in  his  translations,  it  will  be  easy  to  tell 
what  his  education  will  do  for  him.  If  he  be  content 
to  submit  himself  in  mere  passivity  to  the  carving 
hand  of  the  professor,  making  no  effort  to  acquire  by 
his  own  exertions,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  foretell 
what  he  will  have  amounted  to  when  professors  shall 
have  done  with  him.  Docility  is  a prime  quality  in 
every  good  student ; but  docility  and  passivity  are  not 
identical.  Receptivity  is  good  ; but  receptivity  with 
power  to  assimilate  what  is  acquired,  and  multiply 
it,  is  far  better.  The  pupil  may  present  himself  to 
the  professor  like  a block  of  marble  to  be  chiselled 
into  form,  or  he  may  be  like  a tree  which  pruning 
and  culture  shall  quicken  into  a healthier  and  more 
vigorous  growth.  Outward  stimulus  is  all  in  vain 
without  the  inward  energy  that  reacts  and  receives 
and  assimilates.  A stick  may  be  whittled  into  the 
form  of  a man,  but  changed  as  it  may  be  in  form  it 
will  still  be  a stick  of  a man.  Alas,  that  so  many  of 
the  liberally  educated  prove  to  be  only  half-animate 


MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE . 131 

figures  into  which  they  have  been  hewn,  or  chiselled, 
or  carved,  or  whittled,  by  the  diligent  labors  of  long 
suffering  and  painstaking  professors  ! 

And  yet,  with  the  utmost  efforts  to  promote  individ- 
ual development,  it  is  marvellous  how  almost  uniformly 
the  individual  is  merged  in  the  mass,  — how  almost 
identical  are  the  mental,  social,  and  moral  stamps  put 
upon  all  the  graduates  of  any  single  institution  of 
learning.  Any  one  of  its  graduates  will  show  you  the 
general  characteristics  of  all.  All  have  been  poured 
into  the  same  mould,  and  the  native  force  of  some  of 
them  must  have  been  sadly  compressed.  Carefully 
observing  professors  in  our  professional  schools  easily 
distinguish  between  the  differing  types  of  mind  and 
character  coming  from  the  different  colleges,  — can  al- 
most determine  with  accuracy  the  college  a student 
has  come  from  so  soon  as  they  have  had  fair  opportu- 
nity to  gauge  him.  College  professors,  after  due  ex- 
perience, can  even  make  some  very  happy  guesses  as 
to  which  of  the  great  preparatory  schools  a boy  has 
come  from  when  they  have  had  opportunity  to  taste 
the  quality  of  his  preparation.  Even  different  law 
schools  put  a not  undiscernible  difference  of  impress 
on  their  graduates.  Theological  schools  put  a most 
conspicuous  difference  of  stamps  on  theirs.  The 
stamps  of  those  of  the  same  communion  differ  widely. 
It  was  not  therefore  a wholly  ungrounded  caricature 
once  made  of  a theological  school,  representing  it  as  a 
grist-mill  into  whose  hopper  men  of  the  most  diverse 
stature,  weight,  and  dress  were  being  dropped,  while 
from  the  farther  side  of  the  mill  a long  procession  of 
clericals  was  emerging,  every  one  of  whom  was  pre- 
cisely like  every  other  in  height,  and  weight,  and  car- 
riage, and  apparel.  To  cramp  a man  into  likeness  to 


132  MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE. 

other  men,  is  to  cripple  him,  if  not  to  unfit  him,  for 
any  efficient  service  in  this  world.  Teachers,  like 
rescuers  of  the  freezing,  must  force  their  pupils  into 
self-exertion  if  they  would  save  them. 

Young  men  seeking  an  education  are  pretty  sure  to 
end  in  becoming  mere  made  men  when  their  ambition 
rests  content  with  doing  simply  the  tasks  assigned  for 
the  recitation-room.  Of  course,  the  tasks  should  com- 
mand the  first  attention.  They  are  assigned  for  the 
best  of  reasons.  If  needed  to  master  them,  they  should 
absorb  one’s  whole  attention.  But  the  tasks  are  not 
for  their  own  sakes.  Made  an  end  in  themselves,  they 
are  sure  to  dwarf  the  doer  of  them  into  an  intellec- 
tual puppet  or  a parrot.  Multitudes  of  men  are  scat- 
tered throughout  our  country  who  were  admirable  at 
their  tasks  in  every  stage  of  their  education  and  in 
every  department  of  knowledge,  — who  even  went  forth 
as  honor  men  from  the  halls  of  learning,  — but  who  in 
all  effective  work  in  human  society  are  hopeless  fail- 
ures. You  find  them  at  the  bar  and  you  find  them  in 
the  pulpit ; professors  chairs  are  not  without  them  ; 
and  they  are  not  wanting  in  the  halls  of  legislation,  — 
admirably  carved  semblances  of  cultivated  manhood, 
having  all  the  shape  and  comeliness  but  not  a whit  of 
the  living  power  of  well-trained  intellects.  For  them 
the  work  of  the  college  and  the  schools  was  its  own 
end  ; when  it  was  finished  they  had  “ attained.”  They 
rested  on  their  laurels.  Their  education,  so  far  from 
fitting,  simply  unfitted  them  for  the  work  which  a 
waiting  world  had  a right  to  expect  from  them. 

The  modern  text-book  and  the  misuse  of  it  must 
not  be  forgotten  in  our  search  for  an  explanation  of 
the  many  cases  of  inefficiency  among  the  liberally  ed- 
ucated. Countless  text-books  with  endless  “ improve- 


MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE . 133 


ments  ” is  one  of  the  most  striking  features  of  our 
modern  methods  of  education.  Reliance  on  text- 
books, with  verbal  recitations  from  them,  is  a special 
characteristic  of  prevailing  methods  of  instruction. 
To  recite  from  them  accurately  is,  with  many  teachers, 
the  sole  test  of  perfect  scholarship.  Boys  get  the  idea 
that  the  contents  of  the  text-books  concern  them  only 
as  lessons  for  recitation,  and  that  when  the  lessons 
have  been  learned  the  book  will  be  of  no  more  ser- 
vice to  them  than  an  old  hat  that  has  served  its  day. 
They  get  a sort  of  vague  impression  that  all  text- 
books, with  their  contents,  have  been  made  solely  for 
school  purposes.  It  was  not  a hopelessly  stupid  boy 
who  asked  if  Professor  Lincoln  did  not  write  the 
“Livy”  which  he  had  edited;  and,  if  he  did  write  it, 
why  he  made  so  many  sentences  that  are  obscure  and 
difficult  to  translate  ? In  extreme  reliance  on  text- 
books verbal  memory  is  cultivated  to  the  comparative 
neglect  of  the  other  powers.  And  it  is  curious  what  a 
trick  the  memory  has  of  retaining  just  so  long  as  it  is 
charged  to  do  so  and  no  longer,  whatever  is  intrusted 
to  it  to  be  reproduced  at  a set  time  or  on  a given  oc- 
casion. A lesson  learned  only  for  the  recitation-room 
will  be  remembered  till  recited,  and  no  longer.  Hence 
the  desperate  crammings  just  prior  to  the  term  exam- 
inations. The  empty  mind  is  crowded  with  materials 
that  the  examinations  will  call  for,  and  the  memory 
will  hold  them  till  the  examination  is  past,  and  then 
drop  them.  And  hence,  furthermore,  the  absurdity  of 
relying  solely  on  final  examinations,  however  minute 
and  extended,  for  determining  either  the  amount  and 
value  of  his  acquisitions,  or  the  degree  of  his  mental 
discipline.  And  the  absurdity  is  the  same  whatever 
the  method  of  instruction,  whether  by  text-book  or  by 


134  MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , UNMADE. 

lectures.  Of  all  the  methods  yet  devised  for  build- 
ing up  the  hollow  shells  of  manhood,  — for  moulding 
blank  images  of  the  real,  — none  has  yet  been  devised 
comparable  to  the  practice  of  relying  on  formal  and 
final  examinations,  — examinations  the  sole  prepara- 
tion for  which  is  special  and  elaborate  cramming. 

A partial  corrective  of  many  of  the  defects  in  our 
educational  methods  is  sometimes  very  effectually  ad- 
ministered by  students  themselves  to  one  another.  I 
mean  the  free,  frank  way  in  which  they  handle  each 
other  in  their  mutual  criticisms.  None  are  quicker 
than  they  to  detect  shams ; none  more  prompt  to 
puncture  pretence  ; none  more  merciless,  and,  as  a 
rule,  none  more  just  in  their  criticisms  ; and,  to  a 
healthy-minded  boy,  no  criticisms  are  more  whole- 
some. A boy  that  has  run  the  gauntlet  of  criticisms 
from  his  fellow-students  has  received  a training  for 
the  longer  race  of  life  that  can  come  from  no  other 
source.  He  discovers  that  it  is  not  so  much  what 
books  and  lessons  are  making  of  him  that  is  criticized 
as  it  is  what  through  use  of  books  and  lessons  he  is 
making  of  himself.  It  is  a great  and  most  useful  dis- 
covery that  a boy  makes  when  the  rough  usage  of  his 
fellows  awakens  within  him  a sense  of  self-reliance 
and  transforms  a quietly  receptive  spirit  into  an 
eagerly  acquisitive.  Many  a boy  is  saved  by  it  from 
becoming  a mere  mummified  product  of  formal  teach- 
ing. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  in  praise  of  self- 
made  men,  as  contradistinguished  from  the  college- 
bred.  We  are  often  reminded  that  many  of  the 
fathers  of  the  American  Republic  were  innocent  of 
every  form  of  academic  training ; that  Patrick  Henry, 
and  Roger  Sherman,  and  Benjamin  Franklin,  and 


MEN : MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE.  135 

many  others  who  did  efficient  service  in  laying  the 
foundations  of  our  national  government  were,  in  the 
strictest  sense,  self-made  men;  that  Chief -Justice 
Marshall,  the  greatest  jurist  yet  on  the  bench  of  the 
supreme  court  of  the  nation,  was  indebted  to  no  col- 
lege for  his  distinction ; that  George  W ashington,  and 
Andrew  Jackson,  and  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  a host  of 
lesser  lights  who  have  effectually  served  the  Republic, 
were  indebted  to  no  academy  or  college  in  fitting 
themselves  for  their  services  ; that  Faraday,  in  Eng- 
land, the  largest  contributor  to  the  advancement  of 
science  in  his  day,  and  some  of  England’s  greatest 
civil  engineers,  as  well  as  Horace  Greeley  and  Thur- 
low  Weed,  two  of  the  most  distinguished  of  American 
journalists,  all  came  up  from  lowly  estates,  not  through 
the  doorways  of  colleges,  but  by  solitary  vigils  and  by 
struggles  with  poverty  and  ignorance ; and  that  in  the 
highest  councils  of  the  American  people  to-day  some 
of  the  leading  minds  are  those  that  have  known  noth- 
ing of  the  training  of  the  schools. 

The  largeness  of  the  proportion  of  the  self-made 
to  the  liberally  educated  in  our  national  councils  is 
one  of  the  noteworthy  signs  of  our  time,  and  all  the 
more  remarkable  that  so  large  number  of  them  are 
from  states  where  colleges  abound.  Not  a few  of  our 
United  States  senators  have  been,  and  still  are,  men 
who,  with  the  very  slender  provisions  of  a common- 
school  education,  have  worked  themselves  up,  from  the 
plough  or  from  apprenticeships  or  clerkships,  into  the 
acquisition  of  kinds  and  degrees  of  knowledge  that 
have  given  them  a commanding  influence  with  their 
college-bred  associates.  And  it  does  not  suffice  to  say 
that  they  got  themselves  elected  through  means  to 
which  the  college-bred  would  not  descend.  Doubtless, 


136  MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE . 

American  politics  are  too  often  a dirty  trade  in  which 
the  right  - minded  and  clean-handed  will  not  engage. 
Intrigue  and  manoeuvre  may  get  one  elected,  but  they 
never  can  endow  with  the  attributes  of  statesmanship ; 
they  never  can  give  preeminence  of  intellect  and 
knowledge.  And  men  soon  find  their  level  in  the 
Senate,  as  they  do  elsewhere  when  associated  with 
their  peers.  Nor,  again,  does  it  quite  suffice  to  say 
that  the  really  able  men  who  have  been  liberally  edu- 
cated refuse  to  enter  political  life  on  account  of  the 
disagreeableness  of  the  service,  or  that  they  are  less 
acceptable  to  the  great  mass  of  electors  than  the  self- 
trained.  The  truth  is,  our  ablest  men  are  not  unwil- 
ling to  serve  the  state,  and,  with  rarest  exceptions,  the 
ruling  parties  are  always  glad  enough  to  be  repre- 
sented by  the  ablest  men  they  can  find. 

But  a formal  distinction  between  the  self-made  man 
and  the  educated  is  not  a just  one,  and  is  misleading. 
All  real  education  is  necessarily  in  one  sense  self-edu- 
cation. Every  man,  the  making  of  whom  results  in 
anything  creditable,  is  in  a real  sense  a self-made 
man.  It  matters  not  what  one’s  natural  endowments 
may  be,  nor  what  the  advantages  or  disadvantages  of 
his  condition  in  life,  if  he  ever  rises  to  a well-devel- 
oped and  efficient  manhood,  it  will  be  by  his  own  exer- 
tions. His  energy  will  be  self-developed,  his  ability 
self -acquired,  his  mental  resources  accumulated  by  his 
own  toil.  Under  God  he  will  be  his  own  maker. 

And  it  stands  to  reason  that  one’s  progress  under 
good  teachers  will  always  be  safer  and  swifter  than  if 
he  grope  his  way  by  himself  alone.  With  due  self- 
exertion, the  more  and  the  better  his  teachers,  the  far- 
ther will  he  advance  and  the  wider  will  be  his  vision 
as  he  goes  on.  The  advantage  of  the  academy  and 


MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , ^iVZ)  UNMADE.  137 


the  college  is  not  that  they  make  men,  but  that  they 
greatly  hasten  the  process  of  self -making.  They  are 
both  time-saving  and  labor-saving;  but  that  is  all. 
The  man  who  understandingly  begins  life  with  their 
help  starts  with  immense  advantage  over  him  who 
begins  single-handed.  Other  methods  of  education 
than  those  of  the  schools  give  them  time  enough, 
will  develop  intellect  and  character ; but  they  are 
methods  which  are  more  laborious  and  circuitous, 
and  uncertain  in  their  results.  No  sensible  man  who 
has  educated  himself  without  the  aid  of  the  schools, 
whatever  the  degree  of  his  self-developed  energy  and 
strength  or  the  extent  of  his  knowledge,  can  fail  to 
see  how  time  might  have  been  saved  by  good  teachers, 
and  how  certain  defects  of  character  might  have  been 
remedied  by  association  with  classmates.  It  is  a sig- 
nificant fact  that  the  so-called  self-made  men  are  very 
willing  their  sons  should  have  the  advantages  of  a 
liberal  education. 

But  the  full  advantages  of  the  academy  and  the 
college  come  only  on  conditions  which  the  student 
himself  alone  can  supply.  They  can  be  thrust  on  no 
one ; no  one  can  supply  them  except  by  strenuous 
effort.  Let  us  notice  for  a moment  what  some  of 
these  are. 

The  first  of  them  is  a mastery  of  whatever  is  pro- 
fessedly learned.  A fatal  error  at  any  stage  of  educa- 
tion, and  under  any  method  of  it,  is  contentment  with 
a half  understanding  of  what  one  has  in  hand.  It  is 
an  error  that  repeats  and  multiplies  itself  at  every 
successive  step.  The  boy  who  is  content  to  know 
only  in  part,  and  to  guess  at  the  rest,  is  certain  to  end 
in  becoming  a man  who  is  never  sure  of  anything. 
The  boy  who  leads  in  school  and  in  college,  and  after- 


188  MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , 4iVZ) 

wards,  if  true  to  himself,  may  lead  in  the  community 
and  the  state,  is  the  boy  who  is  satisfied  with  nothing 
but  exact  knowledge,  and  completeness  of  knowledge, 
so  far  as  attainable,  of  whatever  he  undertakes  to 
learn.  He  is  not  the  boy  who  is  content  with  know- 
ing just  enough  of  his  lesson  to  pass  muster  in  the 
recitation-room.  He  masters  it,  and,  having  mastered 
it  once,  has  mastered  it  for  life.  Every  advancing 
step  is  amid  increasing  light  and  with  a growing  sense 
of  victory.  He  makes  himself.  Men  who,  under 
teachers  or  without  them,  have  ever  come  to  anything 
really  valuable  in  this  world,  have  always  been  men 
who  were  intent  on  knowing  what  they  undertook  to 
learn,  and  on  mastering  what  they  undertook  to  ac- 
quire. They  studied,  not  merely  to  pass  with  a teacher, 
but  to  acquire  the  real  knowledge  which  alone  could 
carry  them  whither  they  wished  to  ascend.  Faraday, 
the  poor  newspaper  carrier  and  apprentice  boy,  attend- 
ing lectures  on  natural  philosophy  through  the  charity 
of  an  elder  brother,  was  eager  to  understand  all  that 
could  be  known  on  the  subjects  discussed,  and  be- 
came, by  his  persistency,  the  most  successful  experi- 
menter and  discoverer  in  science  of  his  time.  Benja- 
min Franklin,  the  apprentice  printer  boy,  wished  to 
improve  himself  in  English  composition,  bought  an 
odd  volume  of  the  66  Spectator,”  read  and  re-read  its 
essays  with  closest  attention;  reading  carefully  an 
essay  to-day  and  noting  its  thoughts,  he  would  try 
several  days  afterwards  to  reproduce  it  in  language  of 
his  own,  comparing  his  reproduction  with  the  original 
for  correction,  and  he  became  the  master  of  an  easy, 
natural  style  and  a voluminous  writer.  If  more  of  our 
boys  in  the  schools,  of  the  same  age  that  Franklin  was 
when  he  did  this  (in  his  fifteenth  year),  would  work 


MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , 42VZ)  UNMADE . 139 

with  equal  diligence  and  patience  in  improving  their 
style  of  writing,  fewer  of  them,  at  their  graduation 
from  college,  would  make  the  wretched  work  so  often 
made  in  the  use  of  their  mother  tongue.  Nothing  is 
ever  really  mastered  without  an  unyielding  determina- 
tion, and  it  is  marvellous  what  a resolute  purpose  can 
accomplish.  Joseph  Justus  Scaliger  went,  in  his  nine- 
teenth year,  to  Paris  to  study  Greek  under  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  noted  Turnebus.  Soon  finding  his  progress 
too  slow  to  be  satisfactory,  he  shut  himself  up  in  his 
chamber,  mastered  Homer,  we  are  told,  in  twenty-one 
days,  and  within  two  years  all  the  classical  Greek  ex- 
tant, — having  committed  all  the  poets  to  memory. 
I cannot  say  that  I believe  Scaliger  did  all  this,  prod- 
igy as  he  was  in  memory ; but  every  one  who,  while 
learning  lessons  in  a language,  is  intent  on  mastering 
the  language  itself,  will  speedily  find  how  great  is  the 
difference  between  being  made  and  making  one’s  self 
a scholar.  Be  not  afraid,  therefore,  young  gentlemen, 
of  committing  your  Homer  and  your  Horace  to  memory 
and  spouting  their  verses  in  the  fields  and  reciting 
them  to  one  another  in  your  walks.  So  learned,  they 
will  be  yours  so  long  as  your  days  shall  last. 

Another  condition  requisite  to  effective  self-making 
is,  never  to  cower  in  one’s  studies  before  any  difficul- 
ties however  great.  To  rely  on  others  is  fatal.  To 
clear  up  one  obscurity  by  your  own  penetration  is 
worth  more  to  you  than  to  have  a dozen  made  lumi- 
nous by  the  intelligence  of  another.  He  who  once 
learns  to  untie  knots  and  remove  difficulties  for  him- 
self soon  finds  that  they  become  increasingly  rare  as 
he  advances ; he  who  asks  others  to  remove  his  obsta- 
cles for  him  soon  finds  them  multiplying  as  he  pro- 
ceeds. A healthy  self-reliance  is  rarely,  if  ever,  want- 


140  MEN : MADE , SELF-MADE , >diVZ>  UNMADE. 

ing  in  self-made  men  whose  making  has  resulted  in 
anything  worth  speaking  of.  And  it  never  is  found 
in  men  who  rely  on  others  to  do  their  hard  things  for 
them.  Strength  and  self-reliance,  like  everything  else 
in  the  human  soul,  grow  by  use,  and  nothing  calls 
them  into  use  like  courageously  facing  and  overcom- 
ing whatever  taxes  intellect  and  patience  in  their  re- 
moval. It  certainly  is  not  the  easiest  studies  that 
most  develop  strength  of  intellect,  and  it  is  not  the 
most  difficult  that  bring  out  the  finer  mental  graces. 
Harmony  of  studies  alone  gives  harmony  of  mental 
traits.  Men  who  are  self-made  outside  of  the  schools 
give  their  attention  successfully  to  one  study  or  an- 
other, according  as  they  discover  in  themselves  some 
gaping  deficiency.  Abraham  Lincoln  said  of  himself : 
“ When  I came  of  age  I did  not  know  much.  The 
little  advance  that  I now  (1859)  have  upon  this  store 
of  education  I have  picked  up  from  time  to  time 
under  the  pressure  of  necessity.”  Without  the  aid  of 
masters  and  professors  the  disadvantages  under  which 
one  labors  in  getting  an  education  are  almost  incom- 
putable ; in  a well-ordered  academy  and  college,  where 
the  various  branches  of  knowledge  are  so  adjusted  to 
one  another  that  instruction  in  each  comes  at  the  right 
time,  the  advantages  to  a student  are  beyond  estimate ; 
but  neither  in  the  one  case  nor  the  other  can  a sym- 
metrical intellect  and  character  ever  be  developed  ex- 
cept through  an  energy  of  purpose  that  will  not  shrink 
from  the  severest  toil. 

Again,  a habit  of  clear  thinking  is  always  indispen- 
sable in  developing  a high  order  of  intellect,  whether 
under  teachers  or  without  them.  Clear  thought  for 
the  mind,  like  pure  air  for  the  lungs,  always  invigor- 
ates. A boy  who  is  content  with  seeing  things  ob- 


MEN : MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE.  141 

scurely  will  go  into  life  with  an  obtuse  mental  vision, 
that  will  betray  him  into  endless  blunders.  To  hear 
or  read  the  renderings  sometimes  made  of  Greek  and 
Latin  into  English,  one  would  think  the  old  Greeks 
and  Homans  must  have  been  a very  muddy-minded  peo- 
ple : whereas,  of  all  men  who  ever  used  language,  none 
probably  were  ever  more  lucid  and  exact  in  express- 
ing their  thoughts  ; and  no  languages  were  ever  better 
fitted  for  precision  than  the  Latin,  or  for  express- 
ing all  of  the  endlessly  varying  shades  of  thought  of 
which  mind  is  capable  than  the  Greek.  No  man  ever 
comes  into  possession  of  real  mental  power,  or  of  men- 
tal resources  worth  having,  who  has  not  been  accus- 
tomed to  exact  attention  to  whatever  engages  him, 
and  to  exact  statement  to  himself  of  what  he  thinks 
he  has  learned.  From  the  penalty  of  inattention  and 
careless  observation  there  is  no  escape.  Nature,  al- 
ways punctiliously  exact  in  all  her  operations,  is  merci- 
lessly impatient  of  every  slovenly  son  of  man  who  is 
inattentive  to  her  laws,  whether  of  matter  or  of  mind ; 
kindly  to  the  studious,  she  is  ever  ready  to  disclose 
to  him  her  secrets.  Some  of  her  laws  are  so  plainly 
written  that  all  who  run  may  read  them ; others  are 
so  hidden  that  only  the  inquisitive  and  clear-sighted 
see  them.  Depth  and  clearness  of  insight,  decisive 
marks  of  trained  intellect,  come  only  to  him  who  as- 
siduously seeks  to  acquire  them.  Good  teaching  may 
assist  in  the  acquisition ; but  they  never  are  acquired 
except  by  persistent  endeavor.  Nothing  contributes 
more  directly  to  their  acquisition  than  earnest  discus- 
sions with  fellow- students.  Intellects  in  collision 
sharpen  each  other  and  whet  thoughts  into  precision. 
Sir  James  Mackintosh  and  Robert  Hall,  two  of  the 
brightest  intellects  of  their  day,  were  fellow- students 


142  MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE,  AND  UNMADE. 

at  Aberdeen.  Month  after  month  they  read  together, 
and  “ debated  with  the  utmost  intensity  ” questions 
suggested  by  their  reading.  Both  of  them  were  ac- 
customed in  after-years  to  refer  to  these  discussions 
as  having  been  to  them  of  the  utmost  value. 

But  whatever  the  process  and  whatever  the  product 
in  the  making  of  men,  one  of  the  saddest  aspects  of 
human  life  is  the  number  of  the  well-made  who  finally 
unmake  themselves,  and  end  their  days  in  ultimate 
ruin  of  both  mind  and  character.  But  let  it  ever  be 
remembered  that  personal  ruin  comes  neither  by  fate 
nor  by  fiat.  Not  even  omnipotence  can  destroy  rightly 
built  character.  No  lightning  bolt  can  shatter  it,  no 
flood  drown  it,  no  fire  consume  it.  It  is  indestructible, 
except  by  him  who  has  formed  it.  Only  the  man  him- 
self can  destroy  himself.  Personal  ruin,  moreover, 
comes  not  as  sudden  catastrophe,  but  as  the  result  of 
causes,  hidden  it  may  be,  but  long  at  work.  Human 
wrecks  are  not  wrought  in  an  hour.  It  was  not  a 
sudden  and  new-born  impulse  that  prompted  Lord 
Bacon  to  offer  his  smooth  palm  for  the  bribe  that  has 
blackened  his  name  forever.  The  cinders  and  molten 
lava  of  the  volcano  are  not  born  of  a single  day’s 
burning. 

Guard,  then,  against  the  little  beginnings  of  vice. 
Watch  against  the  lodgment  in  your  minds  of  those 
microbes  of  evil  that  so  often  float  in  the  moral  at- 
mosphere of  the  school  and  the  college.  Evil  thoughts 
are  sure  in  due  time  to  breed  evil  deeds.  Man  also  is 
social ; the  social  prompts  to  the  convivial ; the  con- 
vivial adds  to  its  festivities  the  cup  of  exhilaration. 
The  exhilaration  may  be  a very  little  flame  at  the  first, 
but  lighted  often  it  speedily  blazes  into  an  all-consum- 
ing fire.  And  so  of  all  the  sensual  appetites  : yielded 


MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE . 143 

to  in  youth  they  are  sure  to  dominate  in  manhood ; 
once  dominant  their  beastly  hoofs  are  sure  in  time  to 
trample  all  goodness  and  beauty  into  the  mire. 

But  it  is  not  alone  a collapse  of  character  that  is  to 
be  guarded  against : a lesser  but  still  a deplorable 
calamity,  not  unfrequently  befalling  educated  men  in 
our  time,  is  a species  of  intellectual  bankruptcy,  — a 
bankruptcy  in  some  cases  foreseen  and  foretold,  as 
when  one  seeks  to  prepare  himself  for  a profession 
by  the  shortest  cut  possible  and  simply  to  gain  a live- 
lihood ; in  other  cases,  a bankruptcy  unexpected  and 
utterly  disappointing,  as  when  one  proposing  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  a profession  resolves  to  enter  on  the 
practice  of  it  only  after  the  completest  preparation 
that  the  highest  industry  can  secure.  As  a student 
he  outstrips  his  fellows,  acquiring  with  rapidity  and 
retaining  with  ease.  His  literary  and  scientific  studies 
are  finished  with  applause.  His  professional  training 
is  passed  through  with  great  credit  and  the  functions 
of  the  chosen  profession  are  assumed.  To  these  func- 
tions is  given  an  undivided  attention.  They  absorb 
the  whole  man.  The  studies  that  engrossed  him  in 
the  academy  and  roused  him  to  enthusiasm  in  college 
have  dropped  out  of  mind.  College  books  that  were 
not  sold  when  finished  are  thrown  aside  as  lumber. 
The  imago  of  the  insect  is  not  more  removed  from  its 
larva  state  than  this  professional  man  from  his  school- 
days. The  connection  between  the  two  periods  is  not 
that  of  continuous  and  consciously  organic  growth, 
but  of  an  unconscious  metamorphosis.  The  student 
has  been  lost  in  the  lawyer,  the  doctor,  the  clergyman, 
the  editor,  the  engineer.  Here  and  there  one  rises  to 
the  full,  rounded  distinction  of  both  scholar  and  pro- 
fessional man,  a few  attain  to  eminence  as  masters  of 


144  MEN:  MADE , SELF-MADE , AND  UNMADE, 

the  technicalities  of  their  professions : but  a countless 
number  sink  into  mere  professional  hacks,  — prosti- 
tuting their  professions  into  mere  livelihood  trades,  — 
of  whom  the  great  public  soon  wearies  and  refuses  to 
take  account.  The  wealth  of  learning  which  they  be- 
gan to  accumulate  with  such  fair  promise,  husbanded 
and  added  to,  would  have  enriched  life  and  increased 
their  power ; but  they  are  intellectual  bankrupts. 

And  yet  even  to  these  the  training  of  the  school- 
room and  of  the  college  has  been  invaluable.  They 
gave  a mental  discipline  and  useful  knowledge  which 
could  have  been  obtained  in  no  other  way.  Even  the 
professional  hack  is  a better  hack  for  having  been 
well  trained  in  intellect.  Without  due  mental  dis- 
cipline neither  the  principles  involved  in  the  profes- 
sions could  have  been  properly  understood,  nor  the 
functions  required  have  been  intelligently  performed  ; 
and  without  the  drudgery  of  the  schools  the  requisite 
mental  discipline  would  have  remained  unattainable  ; 
and  among  all  the  studies  yet  open  to  man  none  seem 
so  completely  capable  of  fulfilling  at  once  the  double 
office  of  discipline  and  of  subsequent  usefulness  in 
life  as  those  languages  on  which  the  existing  litera- 
tures of  the  world  more  or  less  directly  rest,  and  those 
sciences  out  of  which  are  daily  springing  the  discov- 
eries and  inventions  that  are  fast  changing  the  face 
of  the  whole  earth,  and  serving  as  vehicles  of  the 
thoughts  that  are  to  transform  into  neighbors  and 
brothers  all  the  races  of  mankind. 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


My  theme  is  the  Ideal  Scholar.  In  treating  of  it 
I propose  to  answer  such  questions  as  these : What  is 
it  to  be  a scholar  in  the  broad  acceptation  of  the  term, 
especially  in  the  times  in  which  we  live  ? What  are 
the  characteristic  features  of  the  type  of  manhood 
which  this  ideal  implies?  What  are  the  subjective 
conditions  of  success  in  the  .scholar’s  inward  habits, 
his  peculiar  training,  his  self-command,  his  enthusi- 
asm, docility,  and  diligence?  What  are  the  outward 
appliances  and  external  circumstances  that  are  equally 
essential,  as  the  control  of  his  time,  exemption  from 
sordid  cares,  from  bodily  ailments,  and  destructive 
habits  ? Again,  what  spheres  of  interest  or  activity 
are  essential  to  the  conception  of  the  scholar  in  these 
days  of  divided  and  subdivided  labor,  of  minute  ob- 
servation and  limited  attention,  when  a single  sphere 
of  erudition  or  a single  science  is  deemed  wide  enough 
for  the  most  aspiring  and  industrious?  Shall  any- 
thing like  a broad  and  generous  culture  be  hoped  for 
or  desired  ? If  so,  in  what  shall  it  consist  ? What 
are  the  studies  and  aims  which  it  should  propose  ? and 
How  far  may  this  ideal  be  realized  ? 

It  might  seem  at  first  thought  that  the  appellation 
of  scholar  has  less  significance  at  the  present  time 
than  formerly,  for  the  reason  that  the  diffusion  of  in- 


146 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


telligence  can  no  longer  be  specially  limited  to  a few. 
All  the  world,  it  is  said,  now  goes  to  school,  conse- 
quently all  the  world  are  equally  scholars.  It  is  mere 
assumption  for  any  one  man  to  call  himself  a scholar 
by  eminence  on  the  ground  of  any  special  study, 
or  any  particular  amount  or  quality  of  knowledge. 
There  was  a time  when  learning  was  the  profession  of 
the  few,  and  was  supposed  to  impart  to  its  possessor  a 
mysterious  power  over  nature,  or  privilege  with  kings, 
or  mastery  over  demons,  or  priestly  favor  with  God. 
The  scholar  in  the  old  time  stood  forth  in  the  boldest 
relief  from  among  the  common  herd,  and  bade  them 
hear  his  voice  and  follow  his  call ; but  nowadays  all 
men  are  supposed  to  be  equally  instructed.  Certainly 
all  sit  in  critical  judgment  on  their  teachers  and  lend 
their  ears,  while  the  man  who  would  presume  to  ad- 
dress or  instruct  them  must  beg  a hearing  with  his 
hat  in  his  hand. 

We  accept  these  suggestions  for  all  they  are  worth, 
while  we  insist  that  the  devotion  of  the  life  to  the  ac- 
quisition of  knowledge  and  the  guidance  and  instruc- 
tion of  others  requires  and  forms  men  of  a marked 
and  peculiar  type.  This  type  is  none  the  less  signifi- 
cant and  important  in  these  days  when  knowledge  is 
universal  than  it  was  when  the  teacher  was  a necro- 
mancer, the  scribe  was  the  pliant  or  treacherous  ser- 
vant of  his  sovereign,  and  the  priest  was  either  a 
hypocrite  or  a bigot  before  God.  We  contend  that 
the  existence  of  a community  of  men,  more  or  less 
educated  themselves,  supposes  and  demands  another 
class  of  men  whose  culture  is  wider  and  more  pro- 
found, both  special  and  general,  whose  sharpened  wit, 
ample  generalizations,  responsive  sympathy,  and  pry- 
ing scrutiny  are  at  hand  to  examine  and  to  judge,  to 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


147 


help  and  to  hinder  the  aspirants  after  elementary 
knowledge,  and  to  diffuse  truth  of  every  sort  among 
those  who  are  capable  of  understanding  their  words* 
Jpa.  other  words,  for  the  very  reason  that  knowledge 
is  more  thorough,  more  varied  and  widely  diffused,  it 
follows  that  we  need  and  must  produce  a class  of  men 
who  deserve  to  be  called  scholars  by  eminence,  and 
who  require  a broad  and  thorough  training.  W e con- 
tend for  the  old-fashioned  significance  of  the  product 
and  the  education  which  produces  it.  It  does  not  fol- 
low that  the  word  college  stands  for  the  same  idea 
when  we  speak  of  Harvard  College  or  a business  col- 
lege, or  that  a university  has  the  same  import  with  a 
high-school  because  in  the  German  language  it  is  often 
so  called,  or  that  a man  becomes  a scholar  by  pursu- 
ing a specialty  for  a few  months  even  under  the  ablest 
teachers  and  side  by  side  with  those  who  are  scholars 
indeed. 

We  assume  at  the  outset  that  it  will  take  time  to 
make  real  an  ideal  like  this.  It  is  a long  road  on 
which  a boy  enters  who  is  marked  out  for  scholarship, 
especially  in  these  days  when  to  be  a scholar  must 
mean  so  much,  and  when  to  master  a single  branch  of 
knowledge  engrosses  and  exhausts  a lifetime.  While 
it  is  true  that  now  and  then  an  individual  enters  this 
career  in  late  youth  or  in  early  manhood  and  makes 
a brilliant  success,  seeming  with  a stride  to  overtake 
and  distance  those  who  have  been  years  in  the  race,  it 
is  usually  true  that  those  who  begin  very  early  find  in 
this  a special  advantage.  This  is  not  alone  nor  chiefly 
because  they  add  years  to  their  time  as  time,  but  be- 
cause the  earty  years  of  life  are  golden  in  respect  to 
the  special  activities  which  they  require,  and  the  pe- 
culiar acquisitions  which  they  make  possible.  In  child- 


148 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


hood,  if  it  is  normal,  the  memory  of  words  and  dates 
works  as  easily  as  breathing.  Facts  simply  as  facts 
♦write  their  records  upon  the  passive  brain  as  swiftly 
as  they  pass.  Whatever  we  hear  or  see  is  recalled  as 
spontaneously  as  it  is  gained.  Under  this  law  nature 
provides  for  the  accumulation  of  those  materials  which 
will  subsequently  be  needed,  when  time  is  cheap  and 
labor  ought  to  be  play,  and  each  day  is  a brief  eter- 
nity of  being,  and  each  experience  of  life  leaves  its 
sharp-cut  stamp  upon  the  memory  — furnishing  the 
creative  fantasy  with  exhaustless  materials  to  work 
upon  and  manipulate  when  reason  shall  come  to  the 
front. 

If  these  early  opportunities  for  special  gains  are 
not  used,  they  can  never  be  replaced.  Memory  and 
fancy  are  insensibly  displaced  by  judgment  and 
thought.  The  radiant  dawn,  with  its  varied  and 
roseate  hues,  insensibly  fades  away  before  the  steady 
light  of  the  sober  day.  It  is  desirable  to  begin  the 
scholar’s  life  early  for  another  reason.  Even  were  it 
not  true  that  certain  activities  and  achievements  can 
be  better  achieved  in  the  early  years,  there  would  be 
reason  enough  in  the  fact  that  there  is  so  much  work 
to  be  done  why  we  cannot  begin  too  soon  if  we  begin 
wisely. 

"We  also  assume  that  success  in  the  scholar’s  life 
depends  on  two  conditions : the  springs  of  action,  as 
the  feelings  and  purposes,  on  the  one  hand ; and  the 
machinery  and  the  materials  of  action,  as  the  intellect- 
ual powers  and  achievements,  on  the  other/;  Both  of 
these  are  in  part  the  gifts  of  nature  : in  respect  to  the 
strength  of  the  one,  and  the  reach  and  penetration  of 
the  other.  The  two  act  and  react  on  one  another  in  the 
entire  course  of  the  scholar’s  training.  It  is  hard  to 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


149 


say  which  is  the  more  important  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end ; but  it  is  clear  that  both  claim  to  be  consid- 
ered as  elements  which  give  character  to  the  product. 

JWith  these  premisings,  our  subject  divides  itself 
into  the  two  leading  heads  of  the  teachers  and  the 
studies  of  the  Ideal  Scholar,  using  both  in  the  largest 
and  most  liberal  sense,  and  considering  both  as  ad- 
dressing the  springs  of  action  as  truly  as  they  instruct 
the  pure  intellect. 

We  begin  with  the  scholar’s  teachers  : the  first  and 
most  important  of  which  are  those  which  are  furnished 
by  the  home./  We  do  not  begin  our  life  alone.  We 
inherit  from  other  generations  a stock  of  impulses  and 
powers  which  represent  the  past,  and  which  pass  into 
our  life  under  the  mysterious  law  which  we  name 
heredity.  As  we  awake  to  conscious  life  we  are  sur- 
rounded by  an  atmosphere  of  influence  and  teachings 
which  seem  to  give  that  set  to  our  aims  and  that 
direction  to  our  activities  which  become  the  nucleus 
of  our  individual  life,  and  from  which  all  the  tissue  of 
this  subsequent  life  is  developed  into  a separate  per- 
sonality. Every  Ideal  Scholar  should  have  a home 
to  which  he  can  trace  more  or  fewer  of  those  strong 
impulses  which  have  made  him  to  be  what  he  is,  and 
in  which  he  has  gained  the  definite  convictions  that 
are  the  deep  foundations  of  his  intellectual  life.  It 
now  and  then  happens  that  some  street  Arab  or  home- 
less orphan  stumbles  upon  a scholar’s  career  and  wins 
a scholar’s  renown.  Whenever  this  occurs  it  is  be- 
cause nature  somehow  supplies  an  exception  which 
by  its  manifest  import  proves  the  rule  to  be  true,  — 
strangely  furnishing  some  substitute  for  a father’s 
wisdom  or  a mother’s  tenderness.  Ordinarily,  we  say 
with  confidence,  the  Ideal  Scholar  has  a normal  home, 


150 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


and  finds  in  that  home  more  or  fewer  of  the  control- 
ling impulses  and  guidance  which  enter  into  his  sub- 
sequent life.  The  ideal  scholar’s  home  may  not  be  a 
home  of  leisure  or  ease,  or  what  is  commonly  called 
culture,  but  it  must  be  pervaded  by  high  aims,  by  a 
just  estimate  of  knowledge  as  possessing  an  intrinsic 
dignity  and  worth  when  compared  with  shows  and 
shams  of  any  kind,  and  of  the  value  of  truth  and 
honor  as  contrasted  with  trickery  and  finesse.  The 
inmates  of  the  home  may  none  of  them  be  technically 
educated  in  book  knowledge.  They  may  be  neither 
profound  in  science  nor  versed  in  literature,  and  yet 
they  may  cherish  profound  convictions  of  the  value  of 
both  as  the  condition  of  the  highest  manhood.  To 
this  is  usually  added  the  conviction  that  a well-cul- 
tured mind  and  an  enlightened  character  are  better 
securities  for  what  is  called  success  in  life  than  any 
other  advantages.  It  is  from  homes  like  these  that 
scholars  usually  proceed,  not  necessarily  poor  in  wealth, 
but,  though  poor,  still  rich  in  the  possession  of  the 
highest  aims,  and  sustained  by  the  enthusiasm  of 
moral  self-respect  and  just  ambitions.  If  they  are 
also  endowed  with  wealth  and  refined  by  art  and  ease, 
they  are  yet  more  ennobled  by  just  conceptions  of  the 
worth  of  character  and  usefulness  as  the  best  ac- 
complishments which  wealth  can  buy  or  culture  can 


There  is  many  a homely  or  dilapidated  house  in 
New  England  that  is  pointed  out  as  the  early  home  of 
one  who  was  distinguished  in  his  youth  as  the  scholar 
of  his  hamlet  or  village,  who  subsequently  won  a no- 
ble name  by  some  form  of  learned  or  active  useful- 
ness of  which  a scholar’s  habits  were  the  necessary 
foundation.  If  you  ask  what  there  was  in  that  home 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR.  151 

which  made  him  great,  you  will  find  that  everything 
was  there  which  was  required  for  this  end  : the  noble 
aims  which  were  kindled  in  his  mind  by  father  or 
mother  or  other  inmate,  and  the  teachings  or  habits 
which  were  inculcated  as  essential  to  their  realization. 
It  was  not  that  the  parents  were  themselves  scholars, 
or  in  any  accepted  sense  persons  of  culture.  Their 
books  might  have  been  few,  their  reading  scanty,  their 
acquaintance  with  men  and  science  limited.  Some 
books  they  had : always  the  Book  of  books,  with  the 
poetry  and  pathos,  the  eloquence  and  philosophy, 
which  it  is  ever  ready  to  impart  to  the  responsive 
soul;  and,  in  addition,  Milton  and  Cowper,  or,  may- 
hap, Shakespeare  in  well-thumbed  volumes,  or  Baxter, 
or  Watts.  In  these  volumes  the  fervent  father  or  the 
imaginative  mother  found  many  striking  thoughts  and 
burning  words  concerning  this  life  and  the  next,  and 
the  aims  and  inspiration  that  are  befitting  to  both, 
which  one  or  both  had  contrived  to  impart  to  the 
docile  son,  — waking  once  for  all  the  glowing  ideals 
which  guided  and  warmed  his  subsequent  life. 

If  you  require  an  example,  read  the  story  of  Daniel 
Webster’s  youth,  and  as  you  visit  his  early  home  call 
to  mind  what  thoughts  were  awakened  in  his  mind 
under  the  shadows  of  the  dark  forest  by  the  teachings 
of  his  father  and  mother,  which  he  cherished  with 
grateful  reverence  through  all  the  years  of  his  culmi- 
nating renown.  Or  think  of  the  plain  home  of  Theo- 
dore Parker  in  historic  Lexington,  or  the  home  more 
refined  of  William  Channing  near  the  resounding 
beach  of  the  twice  historic  Newport.  Or  ponder  the 
story  of  Thomas  Carlyle  and  of  his  lifelong  idolatry 
of  his  father  and  mother,  and  the  filial  reverence  which 
he  cherished  for  both  to  the  end  of  his  life,  plain  and 


152 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


in  a sense  uncultured  as  they  were.  Remember  how 
there  was  nothing  the  latter  valued  so  much  in  the 
midst  of  his  London  life  as  the  oatmeal  from  the  old 
home,  — the  walls  of  which  were  laid  by  his  father’s 
hands,  — and  this  not  so  much  for  the  oatmeal  as  for 
the  inspiration  of  his  mother,  and  the  solid  sense  of 
the  father,  which  it  so  distinctly  revived.  Read  the 
lives  of  Emerson  and  Hawthorne,  and  you  will  find 
that  the  secret  impulses  of  the  life  of  both  were  found 
in  the  homes  of  each  and  were  in  each  case  marked 
and  unique,  in  both  cases  unmistakable  and  strong. 
Recall  to  your  minds  the  many  splendid  examples  of 
scholarly  achievement  in  which  English  and  American 
history  abound  ; and  you  will  find  the  same  old  story 
continually  repeated,  that  whenever  there  have  been 
notable  achievements  in  the  world  of  thought  these 
may  usually  be  traced  to  some  inspiring  incitement 
that  has  been  kindled  in  the  nursery  or  by  the  fire- 
side. 

Ffom  the  home  we  pass  to  the  school  as  the  place 
where  our  Ideal  Scholar  encounters  formal  instruction 
and  comes  in  contact  with  the  professional  teacher. 
We  employ  here  no  conventional  terms,  but  include 
in  the  school  every  form  of  task-work  which  is  as- 
signed to  the  scholar  as  a preparation  for  his  active 
life,  beginning  with  the  first  formal  lessons  which  the 
family  furnishes,  and  ending  with  the  final  thesis  with 
which  he  justifies  his  title  to  teach  a fellow-man  in  a 
public  career.  We  include  in  the  discipline  of  the 
school  those  easy  lessons  which  are  softened  by  a 
mother’s  indulgence,  and  the  hard  and  dry  tasks  which 
are  imposed  by  the  merciless  master.  They  are  all 
alike  — the  daily  recitations  for  which  we  are  com- 
pelled to  prepare,  the  fearful  examinations  from  which 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


153 


there  is  no  escape  and  no  excuse,  the  pertinacious 
scrutiny  which  the  impersonal  examiner  draws  out 
into  a lengthened  torture  — they  are  all  alike  in  this, 
that  they  require  the  achievement  of  some  task  which 
ordinarily  involves  labor  against  a specified  time  of 
trial  and  test.  Whatever  this  task  may  be,  it  is  all 
the  same  in  principle  and  aim,  and  that  is,  the  enforce- 
ment of  some  mental  activity  for  a definite  achieve- 
ment, whether  it  is  an  effort  of  memory,  of  discrimi- 
nation, of  reasoning,  or  some  form  of  creative  power. 

The  school  implies  a teacher , and  a teacher,  it  is 
presumed,  knows  more  and  can  think  better  than  his 
pupils,  and  should  never  release  his  pupil  till  he  equals 
or  surpasses  himself.  One  office  of  the  teacher  is  to 
assign  some  form  of  activity  to  his  pupil,  giving  him 
all  the  aid  that  is  consistent  with  this  rule,  — usually 
an  activity  which  involves  effort  and  often  some  duty 
which  is  to  be  done  against  a fixed  time,  for  the  sim- 
ple reason  that  it  is  by  making  such  definite  efforts 
that  the  pupil  gains  acquisition,  alertness,  discrimina- 
tion, self-control,  and  power.  While  it  is  true  that 
school-tasks  differ  greatly  in  their  rigor,  it  should  ever 
be  remembered,  indeed  it  should  be  inscribed  in  let- 
ters of  bronze  over  schools  of  every  kind,  “If  you  give 
up  tasks  you  might  as  well  dismiss  the  school .”  This 
is  equally  true  whether  the  school  is  a kindergarten 
or  a university.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  the  tasks 
prescribed  in  the  kindergarten  differ  from  those  pre- 
scribed in  the  university ; but  both  are  tasks,  albeit  the 
first  are  set  to  music,  and  the  second  are  attended  by 
no  music  except  the  moans  of  reluctant  nature  or  of 
the  exasperated  will.  We  may  allow  to  the  scholar  a 
choice  between  his  tasks,  so  far  as  he  knows  his  own 
powers  or  purposes,  or  has  a right  to  consult  them. 


154 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR . 


We  simply  insist  that  when  they  are  set  or  assumed 
they  must  be  enforced,  and  that  the  logic  which  justi- 
fies the  teacher  in  constraining  the  pupil  to  achieve 
any  task  may  also  justify  him  in  assigning  and  enforc- 
ing a fixed  curriculum  as  the  basis  and  condition  of 
what  men  call  scholarship.  Of  what  this  should  in- 
clude we  will  speak  later.  At  present  we  affirm  the 
right  and  duty  in  general,  which,  indeed,  no  man  will 
deny. 

And  yet  so  much  is  said  in  these  days  against  the 
principle  of  constraint  and  compulsion  in  both  school 
and  university  life,  so  much  is  urged  in  favor  of  free- 
dom and  choice  that  I may  be  excused  for  dwelling 
for  a moment  on  what  seems  to  me  the  essence  and 
ideal  of  life  at  school.  Let  us,  then,  for  a moment 
shake  ourselves  clear  of  all  associations  with  the  rod 
or  the  dungeon,  and  form  to  ourselves  the  most  roseate 
images  of  the  means  of  enforcement.  Then  let  us 
ask  and  seek  to  answer  the  question,  Why  should  the 
schoolma’am  or  the  college  professor  assume  to  pre- 
scribe and  enforce  our  lessons  at  all  ? Why  not  leave 
both  the  selection  and  the  acquisition  to  the  fancy  or 
the  choice  of  the  pupil  ? Simply,  we  reply,  because 
the  world  of  life  for  which  the  school  professes  to 
prepare  abounds  in  tasks,  and  unless  the  school  an- 
ticipates this  discipline  the  best  preparation  for  life 
cannot  be  achieved.  Day  by  day  the  physician,  the 
lawyer,  the  clergyman,  and  the  man  of  business,  nay, 
even  the  teacher  himself,  meets  and  is  confronted  by 
his  daily  lessons.  Even  the  gentleman  who  sets  his 
own  tasks  can  only  pass  the  time  which  he  desires  to 
kill  by  making  engagements,  even  if  he  does  not  ful- 
fil them  ; and  even  he,  should  he  go  too  far  in  remiss- 
ness, will  be  visited  with  summary  disgrace.  It  is 


THE  IDEAL -SCHOLAR. 


155 


true  we  are  not  marked  for  our  failures  in  life  after 
the  fashion  of  the  school ; but  the  marks  are  deeper 
and  more  lasting,  and  often  incapable  of  erasure.  If 
we  lift  our  thoughts  above  the  sense-world,  are  we  not 
taught  by  nature  and  conscience  that  life  itself  is  a 
series  of  duties  assigned  to  each  of  us  under  the 
“ Great  Taskmaster’s  eye  ” ? 

I find  the  same  conception  of  the  relation  of  school 
discipline  to  the  activities  of  life  expressed  by  the 
brother  of  the  founder  of  this  school  in  the  funda- 
mental constitution  of  the  sister  academy,  when  he 
describes  its  object  to  be  “ to  teach  the  great  end  and 
business  of  living,”  showing  in  this  that  he  not  only 
had  a clear  insight  into  the  end  of  schooling  of  every 
sort,  but  also  discerned  that  the  most  important  thing 
which  we  learn  at  school  is  not  Greek  or  Latin,  or 
algebra  or  geometry,  but  how  to  meet  the  duties  of 
life  promptly,  thoroughly,  and  satisfactorily,  — life,  in 
his  view,  being  a series  of  tasks  which,  if  we  face  them 
resolutely  and  faithfully,  will  at  last  become  our  play. 
We  may  say  what  we  will  about  compulsory  study, 
and  compulsory  attendance,  and  compulsory  prepara- 
tion. We  may  succeed  in  driving  tasks  out  of  our 
schools  and  colleges ; but  we  cannot  succeed  in  driving 
them  out  of  life.  It  were  a pity  to  choose  to  forego 
them  in  the  days  of  youth ; for  it  will  be  all  the  more 
difficult  to  meet  them  later. 

The  teacher,  one  or  many,  does  not  make  the  school, 
nor  do  his  lessons  or  his  example  furnish  the  scholar’s 
entire  ideal.  Sometimes,  indeed,  by  the  breadth  of 
his  acquisitions  and  the  force  of  his  character,  he  is 
both  ideal  and  inspiration  to  all  whom  he  instructs,  so 
that  they  bless  him  while  he  lives,  and  honor  his  name 
when  he  is  dead.  But  even  then  he  does  not  exhaust 


156 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


or  hinder  the  inspirations  which  came  from  another 
source.  You  send  your  son  to  the  schoolmaster,  says 
Emerson,  but  it  is  his  schoolfellow  who  teaches  him. 
Much  as  this  seems  to  signify,  its  meaning  and  truth 
grow  upon  us  the  more  we  think  of  its  breadth  of 
import.  It  is  at  the  school  that  the  pupil  makes  his 
first  personal  and  definite  acquaintance  with  the  great 
world  without  the  household.  Before  school-time  be- 
gins, the  world  within  those  limits  had  been  moulded 
so  gradually  with  his  growing  consciousness  as  to  seem 
a part  of  himself  and  almost  to  blend  with  the  earth 
and  sky.  But  so  soon  as  the  boy  enters  the  school 
and  definitely  faces  his  kind,  say  a dozen  or  more, 
with  looks  of  wonder,  or  sympathy,  or  defiance,  there 
gradually  dawns  upon  his  awakened  mind  the  knowl- 
edge of  what  public  sentiment  may  signify,  with  its 
smiles  and  its  frowns  ; of  the  laws  which  it  imposes, 
with  its  doctrines  of  rights,  its  claims  of  property ; and 
all  the  manifold  experiences  in  miniature  which  social 
manhood  is  forced  to  make  for  itself,  and  out  of  which 
emerge  the  boy’s  first  conceptions  of  law  and  govern- 
ment, of  his  duties  and  his  rights.  Gradually  the 
world  of  one’s  school-fellows  becomes  the  most  impor- 
tant world,  often  the  only  human  world  that  the  grow- 
ing boy  cares  for  in  his  years  of  “ storm  and  stress.” 
Between  the  class-room  and  the  playground  it  is  the 
only  world  with  which  he  has  much  to  do  or  greatly 
cares  for,  whether  he  dreams  or  is  awake.  For  within 
its  limits  he  finds  ample  material  for  his  loves  and 
hates,  his  plans  and  achievements,  and  upon  its  varied 
occupations  he  lavishes  all  the  resources  of  his  never- 
exhausted  youth.  Within  this  luxuriant  field  of  the 
fermenting  common  life  of  every  school  and  college 
there  spring  up  and  grow  together  the  golden  wheat 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


157 


and  the  poisonous  weed,  noble  resolves  and  hateful 
passions,  generous  aims  and  vile  conspiracies,  common 
movements  which  kindle  and  fan  the  flames  of  a noble 
enthusiasm,  or  single-handed  heroism  which  defies  a 
maddened  crowd.  If  the  social  tide  sets  strongly  in 
the  right  direction,  the  voice  of  the  community  is  the 
voice  of  God ; if  it  moves  strongly  toward  evil,  its 
temporary  triumphs  only  prepare  the  way  for  a disas- 
trous and  conspicuous  defeat. 

The  educating  force  of  these  influences  with  our 
Ideal  Scholar  is  sufficiently  obvious.  It  is  not  alone 
the  teacher,  nor  the  text-books,  nor  the  manifold  other 
appliances  which  make  or  mar  the  best  development, 
but  most  of  all  it  is  the  common  social  life  with  which 
the  scholar  is  surrounded  that  silently  shapes  and 
energizes  his  inner  being.  Within  this  charmed  circle 
those  school  and  college  friendships  are  formed  which 
so  often  become  friendships  for  life.  It  usually  hap- 
pens — it  always  happens  if  the  spirit  is  of  finer  mould 
— that  some  single  companion  is  sooner  or  later  found 
who  becomes  the  other  self.  With  common  tasks  and 
common  aims,  each  finds  in  the  other  the  complement 
of  himself,  as  each  reflects  the  other’s  tastes  or  sup- 
plies his  defects.  One  school  or  college  friend,  or 
perhaps  a little  group  of  zealous  scholars,  animated 
by  common  purposes  or  ardently  following  common 
studies,  have  sometimes  done  more  for  one  another’s 
scholarly  achievements  than  an  army  of  learned  pro- 
fessors, or  the  costliest  outfit  of  books  or  apparatus. 
Not  that  the  latter  may  not  for  many  purposes  be  in- 
dispensable, but  that  the  former  are  always  fraught 
with  elemental  fire. 

The  great  schools  of  England  and  her  greater  uni- 
versities have  done  immensely  more  for  the  scholar- 


158 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


ship  of  England,  or,  rather,  for  the  scholars  of  Eng- 
land, by  the  intense  and  pervasive  common  life  which 
they  have  sustained,  than  by  every  other  provision  for 
culture  and  inspiration.  If  you  do  not  believe  this, 
read  with  intelligence  the  scores,  or,  as  I should  say, 
the  hundreds  of  the  striking  biographies  which  we 
have  of  England’s  great  men  who  had  a university 
training.  Two  school-friends  whose  hearts  early  beat 
in  unison,  a half-score  of  inmates  of  the  same  college 
at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  a group  of  like-minded  fel- 
lows in  the  common  room  have  not  only  kindled  in 
their  own  souls  a zeal  for  learning,  but  have  carried 
its  lighted  torch  half  round  the  globe  in  a glowing 
track.  Much  as  these  social  bonds  are  needed  in  Eng- 
land among  those  who  call  themselves  scholars,  in  this 
country  they  are  needed  more.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  we  deprecate  any  weakening  of  the  personal  ele- 
ment in  teachers  and  the  tendency  to  substitute  lec- 
tures and  written  examinations  for  the  lively  question 
and  answer  in  which  man  meets  man  with  open  face 
and  loosened  tongue.  For  this  reason  we  mourn  over 
the  tendency  to  abandon  or  disintegrate  the  old  college 
class,  with  those  sympathies  and  antipathies  through 
the  quadrennial  course  which  gave  the  student  such 
opportunities  in  experience  with  one  another  as  are 
impossible  in  almost  any  other  conceivable  situation 
in  life.  If  the  new  fashion  shall  prevail,  it  will  come 
to  pass  that  within  what  was  once  a royal  dining-hall 
arranged  for  a common  repast,  we  shall  be  summoned 
to  take  our  intellectual  nutriment  a la  carte  in  little 
and  changing  squads,  and  consequently  know  little 
and  care  less  for  the  few  with  whom  we  chance  to 
associate  for  a month. 

With  thoughts  of  the  common  life  and  its  impor- 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


159 


tance  to  the  scholar,  there  come  in  the  subjects  of 
common  sports  at  school  or  college  and  their  influence 
upon  the  scholar’s  ideal,  aye,  and  upon  his  achieve- 
ments, as  also  upon  his  manners,  his  tastes,  and  his 
character.  This  subject  is  likely  to  be  more,  rather 
than  less,  important  for  the  time  to  come.  Athletics 
in  all  their  forms  are  everywhere  an  established  in- 
terest. Contests  of  every  kind  between  individuals, 
and  classes,  and  schools,  and  colleges  occur  as  regu- 
larly as  the  recitations,  and  are  often  more  numer- 
ously attended,  especially  when  the  latter  are  optional. 
In  respect  to  this  subject  the  following  questions  natu- 
rally suggest  themselves  : What  place  should  athletics 
hold  in  our  ideal  of  the  training  of  the  scholar? 
Should  they  be  systematically  taught  and  the  practice 
of  them  be  universally  enforced?  -Should  contests  in 
strength  and  skill  be  permitted  under  prudent  direc- 
tion ? Should  such  contests  be  allowed  between  the 
representatives  of  different  institutions  ? 

To  these  questions  only  the  briefest  answers  can  be 
given,  with  reasons  as  brief.  To  the  first  of  these 
questions  the  answer  is  easy.  Athletics  and  hygiene 
should  be  taught  in  every  school.  The  theory  of  each 
is  supposed  to  enter  into  the  ideal  knowledge  which  is 
presumed  of  every  scholar.  The  obvious  conditions  of 
health  and  corporal  well-being  ought  to  be  familiar  to 
every  educated  boy  and  girl.  The  practice  of  both 
ought  to  be  enforced  during  the  earlier  years  of  the 
scholar’s  life,  because  these  are  the  plastic  and  glow- 
ing years,  and  the  muscular  and  organic  life  is  then 
receptive  of  every  physical  habit  on  which  vigor  de- 
pends, or  through  which  weakness  and  disease  may 
sap  or  destroy  the  energies  of  life.  They  should  be 
encouraged  later,  but  enforced  no  longer  than  the 


160 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


tastes  and  preferences  accept  with  pleasure  the  as- 
signed activities  of  the  drill-room,  for  the  reason  that 
by  many  the  gymnastics  of  the  independent  walk,  the 
adventurous  climb,  the  solitary  row,  and  the  unnamed 
delights  of  the  summer  and  even  of  the  winter  land- 
scape are  greatly  preferred. 

The  subject  of  trials  of  athletic  skill  and  strength, 
especially  between  different  schools,  presents  especial 
difficulties.  We  cannot  do  justice  to  such  a subject 
here.  At  first  the  spectacle  is  not  unattractive,  — - of 
friendly,  yet  earnest,  strifes  of  strength  and  skill,  with 
all  the  restraints  upon  hostile  passions  which  experi- 
ence teaches,  and  which  the  generous  impulses  of 
strenuous  youth  are  ready  to  accept.  And  yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  elaborate  arrangements  for  the  season, 
the  recurring  excitements  attendant  upon  each  re- 
ported contest,  the  thought,  and  feeling,  and  time,  and 
money  which  are  expended  upon  the  betting,  and  the 
jealousies  and  envyings  which  are  incident  to  the 
theory  and  practice  of  these  contests,  must  give  us 
pause  before  we  pronounce  them  an  unmitigated  bless- 
ing. But  yet,  even  on  this  unfavorable  side,  we  find 
some  good,  as  in  the  restraint  of  the  grosser  indul- 
gences of  appetite  and  passion,  in  the  enforcement  of 
gentlemanly  ways,  in  the  conduct  of  programmes  and 
treaties,  and  now  and  then  in  the  noble  behavior  of 
the  field.  ISome  of  our  best  athletes  become  the  best 
lawyers  and  clergymen  and  physicians.  Some  of  them 
take  the  high  honors,  and,  among  their  high  ambitions 
to  excel,  do  not  forget  the  highest  of  all.  For  these 
reasons,  to  say  the  least,  we  cannot  exclude  athletic 
excellence  or  ambition  from  the  scholar’s  ideal.^ 

Thus  far  we  have  spoken  of  the  teaching  and  train- 
ing of  the  home  and  of  the  school  in  which  the  agency 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


161 


of  parents  and  teachers  and  schoolmates  is  conspicu- 
ous. - We  have  omitted  the  most  important  of  all, 
namely,  the  teaching  and  training  which  each  man  be- 
stows upon  himself \ We  may  not  forget  that  for  the 
Ideal  Scholar  this  is  the  most  efficient  training  which 
any  man  can  possibly  receive,  and  that  without  this 
all  other  teaching  and  discipline  must  fail  of  their  best 
effect.  Parents  and  the  home  circle  may  inculcate 
and  inspire  ; teachers  may  assign  the  most  judicious 
tasks  and  enforce  them  most  wisely  ; schoolmates  may 
be  troops  of  angels  that  would  bear  the  pupil  up  to 
God  on  steps  of  duty  and  wings  of  faith : and  yet,  if 
the  scholar  does  not  become  his  own  efficient  and 
inspiring  teacher,  the  ideal  conditions  of  a scholar’s 
career  are  not  fulfilled,  and  the  genuine  scholar  is  not 
produced.  Hence  we  say  emphatically,  every  scholar 
is  his  own  best  teacher , and  sooner  or  later  he  must 
assume  and  discharge  this  function  for  himself.  The 
most  efficient  schooling  to  which  he  can  possibly  be 
subjected  is  that  to  which  he  subjects  himself.  There 
comes  to  every  schoolboy  who  makes  of  himself  a man, 
early  or  later,  on  a sudden  or  more  gradually,  the  dis- 
covery that,  for  what  he  is  to  become,  he  is  chiefly 
responsible  to  himself.  It  is  of  little  consequence  how 
he  reaches  this  conviction : whether  it  breaks  upon  him 
with  startling  abruptness,  as  in  a vision,  or  whether  it 
is  gradually  reached,  as  the  darkness  of  midnight  is 
replaced  by  the  dawn.  Its  voice  is  distinct  and  clear : 
Henceforth  you  must  be  your  own  teacher  and  master 
combined.  To  this  voice  the  response  is  equally  clear 
and  strong,  I must  and  I will . Sooner  or  later  the 
questions  follow:  What,  then,  will  you  become?  and 
How?  If  the  answer  concerns  intellectual  achieve- 
ment, according  to  its  breadth  and  fulness,  such  will 


162 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


be  the  man,  provided  only  that  industry  and  self- 
control  hold  him  to  his  work.  To  such  a pupil  no 
master  can  possibly  be  so  rigorous  as  he  becomes  to 
himself.  Every  oversight  in  his  daily  lesson  is  noticed 
by  himself  with  greater  rigor  than  by  the  sternest  of 
teachers.  Whatever  labor  and  attention  can  accom- 
plish is  freely  lavished  upon  his  work,  and  sooner  or 
later  his  work  shows  the  result  in  his  quickened  intel- 
lect, his  enlarged  acquisitions,  his  exacter  knowledge, 
and  the  completed  mastery  of  his  powers,  to  whatever 
service  they  are  applied.  With  this  increased  self- 
reliance  there  is  increased  self-distrust.  With  aug- 
mented energy  of  purpose  there  is  a deepened  convic- 
tion that  he  needs  help  and  guidance  from  others,  that 
his  own  fancies  and  convictions  require  the  correction 
of  other  men’s  judgment,  and  the  light  of  other  men’s 
knowledge.  This  is  the  natural  result  of  that  deep- 
ened simplicity  of  purpose  which  comes  from  a deep- 
ened sense  of  responsibility  to  one’s  self.  Hence  it  is 
no  paradox  to  say  that  self-distrust  may  be  increased 
in  proportion  to  one’s  self-reliance;  that  the  most  thor- 
ough scholar,  who  is  the  most  thorough  because  he  is 
the  most  self-reliant,  is  also  the  most  candid  and  lib- 
eral in  his  judgments  of  others  and  the  most  sus- 
picious of  himself.  The  ranks  of  the  noblest  scholars 
are  crowded  with  men  of  this  type,  — men  of  the 
rarest  candor,  coupled  with  the  strongest  convictions ; 
men  with  a martyr’s  meekness,  yet  ready  for  the  mar- 
tyr’s fire ; men  as  unlike  as  possible  to  the  intellectual 
bullies  with  whom  they  are  sometimes  confounded. 

When  the  scholar  is  fully  awake  to  his  obligations 
to  himself  and  is  competent  to  judge  of  the  studies 
which  will  best  meet  his  future  wants,  he  is  competent 
to  select  his  studies  for  himself,  and  he  is  not  before : 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


163 


certainly  not  without  the  strenuous  advice  of  older 
men.  How  soon  this  state  may  be  attained  by  tins 
or  that  individual  we  need  not  decide.  Now  and  then 
there  is  a scholar  who  shows  in  his  youth  tastes  so  de- 
cided and  capacities  so  strong  as  to  leave  no  room  for 
any  question  except  the  one-sided  inquiry  whether  his 
one-sidedness  does  not  need  to  be  corrected  by  the 
very  studies  which  he  does  not  fancy.  But,  conceding 
that  such  a case  is  exceptional,  we  are  forced  to  con- 
clude that  self-control  cannot  safely  be  allowed  until 
some  serious  sense  of  self  - responsibility  has  been 
evoked,  and  with  it  the  necessity  that  the  liberty  of 
choice  will  not  be  abused,  but  will  be  intelligently  and 
earnestly  used. 

But  we  pass  a second  time  over  the  embers  of  this 
burning  question  with  hasty  tread.. 

Thus  far  have  we  been  occupied  with  the  teachers 
of  the  Ideal  Scholar  under  the  designation  of  the 
home,  the  school,  and  himself.  We  have  conceived 
the  school  to  include  the  college  and  university  as  the 
necessary  conditions  of  his  training.  In  other  words, 
we  have  assumed  that  his  training  is  to  be  a public 
education,  that  is,  an  education  prosecuted  under  the 
stimulus  of  an  active  social  life.  For  the  reasons 
which  have  been  already  suggested,  we  have  not  con- 
trasted a public  with  a private  education,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  the  last  is  possible  for  only  a very 
few,  and  that  for  these  few  it  should  be  supplemented 
by  the  collisions  and  enticements  of  the  school,  and 
the  stimulants  and  exhilarants  of  the  university.  These 
last  should  never  be  dispensed  with ; and,  even  in  the 
case  of  princes  or  the  exceptionally  wealthy,  more  or 
less  of  the  school-life  is  recognized  as  the  essential 
completion  of  an  education  which  will  fit  them  to  deal 
with  their  fellow-men. 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


1G4 

Leaving  the  teachers,  let  us  pass  to  their  teaching, 
— in  other  words,  to  the  studies  which  are  essential 
to  the  scholar’s  ideal.  We  naturally  begin  with  lan- 
guage, inasmuch  as  all  education,  even  that  of  nature, 
begins  with  the  mastery  over  words  and  speech.  There 
are  not  a few  in  these  days  who  forget  this  truth,  or, 
recognizing  it  as  a fact,  are  disposed  to  rebel  against 
the  lessons  which  it  suggests,  or  to  reverse  the  posi- 
tion in  which  words  have  stood -in  respect  to  facts. 
Their  lusty  cry  is,  Give  us  things ; confront  us  with 
facts.  Nature  meets  us  at  every  turn  with  living 
realities.  Words  are  of  use  only  as  they  acquaint  us 
with  nature,  so  far,  and  so  far  only  as  they  teach  us 
to  observe,  or  as  they  record  what  others  have  seen  or 
proved,  or  what  we  may  discern  and  test  for  ourselves. 
To  be  sure,  words  are  a great  convenience.  They  give 
a man  a thousand  eyes  in  place  of  two.  They  dispense 
with  his  travelling  over  unmeasured  distances,  and 
his  mining  in  dark  and  gloomy  depths,  or  flying  along 
trackless  spaces.  But  all  these  other  services  were 
better  dispensed  with  under  the  pressing  calls  of  na- 
ture, as  she  bids  us  confer  with  herself  directly  and 
alone. 

As  against  all  these  plausible  and  urgent  reasons, 
we  urge  ' the  incontestible  truth,  explain  it  or  not  as 
we  may,  that,  in  point  of  fact  and  under  the  guidance 
and  impulse  of  nature  herself,  the  intellectual  culture 
of  man  begins  with  the  mastery  of  his  mother-tongue, 
and  this  not  as  a means  as  to  what  lies  beyond,  but 
through  the  processes  themselves  by  which  this  mas- 
tery is  achieved : in  learning  to  speak  with  the  articu- 
lating organs  and  to  interpret  by  the  eye  the  symbols 
of  uttered  speech.  How  or  why  it  should  be  we  may 
not  explain.  That  the  combined  activities  of  the 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


165 


mental  and  vocal  elements  of  the  unseen  thought  and 
the  seen  or  uttered  word  should  be  of  such  enormous 
force  in  the  discipline  and  development  of  the  human 
intelligence,  we  know  to  be  a fact.  Let  two  children 
begin  with  equal  promise.  Let  speech  and  the  physi- 
cal capacity  for  spoken  language  be  denied  to  the  one, 
or  simply  disused,  and  let  the  other  be  trained  to 
speak  and  read,  and  the  disparity  in  the  intellectual 
development  of  the  two  will  speedily  be  enormous. 
Nothing  will  remove  this  disparity  except  the  study  of 
language,  which  the  loosened  tongue  or  the  interpret- 
ing eye  make  possible.  Let  these  be  given,  and  the 
powers  expand  under  the  varied  and  quickening  stim- 
ulants which  come  through  language  alone. 

To  a certain  extent  and  for  a certain  length  of  time 
the  study  of  language  is  indispensable  as  the  medium 
of  culture  of  every  kind,  in  whatever  form  culture  may 
be  desired,  simply,  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  it 
confronts  the  man  with  the  countless  relations  of 
things  and  of  thought  which  would  be  unobserved  or 
forgotten  were  they  not  fixed  by  words  and  thus  made 
the  peculiar  and  permanent  possession  of  the  mind.  It 
is  idle  to  spend  the  time  in  proving  what  no  man 
denies,  that  the  mastery  of  one  language  at  least  is 
essential  to  awaken,  to  instruct,  and  to  inform  the  in- 
fant mind.  Even  the  extremest  physicist,  who  would 
fain  confine  his  faith  to  the  hardest  kind  of  mate- 
rial facts,  would  neither  dodge  nor  forget  the  truth 
that  it  is  not  facts , but  the  relations  of  facts,  which 
make  science,  and  that  these  relations  must  be  sym- 
bolized in  words.  Even  he  will  concede  that  the  edu- 
cation of  the  student  of  nature  must  begin  with  the 
mastery  of  the  mother-tongue. 

Again,  the  mastery  of  language  is  not  only  neces- 


166 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR, 


sary  if  we  would  acquire,  but  equally  that  we  may  be 
able  to  communicate  to  others.  To  impart  with  clear- 
ness and  facility  and  method  and  interest,  the  teacher 
must  be  the  master  of  his  instrument ; and  to  be  the 
master  of  an  instrument  so  subtle  as  language  re- 
quires art  and  skill,  and  art  and  skill  carry  us  back 
to  science.  But  here  it  may  be  asked,  Why,  for  all 
these  purposes,  does  not  the  study  of  English  suffice, 
and  why  is  it  not  wiser  to  master  the  capacities  of  a 
single  instrument  rather  than  divide  your  energies 
between  two  or  three  ? Why  study  any  other  than 
English,  except  for  the  reason  that  French  and  Ger- 
man can  tell  you  facts  that  the  English  does  not  dis- 
close ? Or,  if  you  study  a language  for  the  sake  of 
the  language,  to  gain  some  peculiar  discipline,  why 
not  study  English  in  a philological  and  critical  way  : 
as  Old  English  and  Middle  English,  or  Modern  Eng- 
lish, and  let  all  the  others  go  except  as  reporters  of 
facts  and  instruments  of  information  ? Especially, 
why  insist  on  the  Greek  in  these  days  of  expanding 
science  and  multiplied  letters,  when  the  English  liter- 
ature spreads  out  its  riches,  at  once  the  labor  and  the 
luxury  of  a lifetime,  in  their  boundless  profusion  ? 
The  challenge  is  fair.  The  answer  to  it  is  ready. 

First  of  all,  experience  has  decided  that  a language 
other  than  your  own  can  be  used  to  greater  advantage 
for  all  those  purposes  for  which  you  study  language  at 
all.  In  other  words,  you  learn  to  study  English  criti- 
cally to  better  advantage  when  you  see  it  reflected  in 
German  or  Greek  than  by  looking  at  it  directly  in  the 
face  and  comparing  it  by  standards  taken  from  itself 
alone.  As  you  judge  a familiar  landscape  to  greater 
advantage  in  respect  to  form  or  color  or  other  features 
when  you  see  it  reflected  in  a mirror,  so  is  it  with  a 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


167 


scholar’s  facilities  for  estimating  his  mother-tongue. 
The  child  and  the  man  who  have  had  no  special  train- 
ing find  it  almost  as  difficult  to  criticise  their  mother- 
tongue  as  to  criticise  the  mother  whom  they  unreflect- 
ingly love  and  admire.  But  so  soon  as  they  have 
been  schooled  to  do  this  with  another  language  than 
their  own,  they  come  back  to  their  own  with  new  eyes 
and  new  standards.  No  a priori  reasoning  or  dog- 
matic assertions  can  set  aside  facts  like  these.  Every 
scholar  who  deserves  the  name  must  accept  them  as 
axiomatic  truths.  To  assert  that  it  cannot  be  so  and 
shall  not  be  so  for  the  next  generation,  because  we 
cannot  see  why  it  should  be  so,  is  to  fight  against  the 
wind. 

But  if  you  must  employ  another  language,  why  not 
use  German  in  place  of  Greek?  What  gives  to  Greek 
this  unchallenged  preeminence  among  the  thousand 
tongues  that  have  been  used  by  man  ? Is  not  the 
German  as  articulated  in  its  paradigms,  as  refined  in 
its  structure,  as  profound  in  thought  as  is  the  Greek  ? 
Is  not  Goethe  a better  model  for  the  modern  scholar 
than  even  Plato,  or  Homer,  or  Sophocles  ? When  I 
am  posed  with  these  questions  I have  one  answer. 
The  Greeks  possessed  one  quality  in  language  and  dic- 
tion, in  sentiment  and  reasoning,  and  that  is  the  gift 
of  perpetual,  exuberant  youth.  The  freshness  of  life’s 
morning  was  always  with  them.  In  their  poetry,  their 
oratory,  their  philosophy,  and  their  drama,  clearness, 
directness,  pathos,  earnestness,  frankness,  and  consum- 
mate beauty  are  always  dominant.  This  youth  enabled 
them  to  produce  a literature  which  should  hold  the 
exalted  function  of  training  the  scholars  of  humanity 
for  all  the  generations.  This  function  they  will  con- 
tinue to  exercise  in  spite  of  the  confident  predictions 


168 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR . 


to  the  contrary.  The  strong  convictions  of  those  who 
have  made  trial  of  this  training  remain  unshaken. 
We  may  not  forget  that  the  host  of  these  witnesses  is 
enormous,  extending  through  many  generations.  The 
position  of  Greece  as  the  teacher  of  Rome  and  the 
schoolmaster  of  civilized  Christendom  was  not  an  acci- 
dent, but  was  founded  on  the  conviction  that  comes 
from  trial.  No  man  who  has  thoroughly  availed  him- 
self of  this  culture,  and  in  any  proper  sense  put  it  to 
the  proof,  has  regretted  the  time  or  the  labor  which  it 
has  involved.  Every  man  who  has  gone  far  enough 
in  his  Greek  to  read  Plato,  and  Homer,  and  Demos- 
thenes with  moderate  facility,  will  testify  that  by  his 
mastery  of  Greek  he  has  gained  more  than  he  has  lost 
in  time,  in  the  facility  for  his  other  linguistic  studies, 
provided  the  normal  period  for  a scholar’s  curriculum 
were  allowed  him.  We  premised  early  in  our  argu- 
ment that  a scholar’s  training  requires  some  ampli- 
tude of  time.  It  were  idle  to  forget  that  time  is 
essential  to  success  in  every  enterprise.  We  do  not 
contend  that  the  mastery  of  two  languages  does  not 
require  more  time  than  the  mastery  of  one,  and  yet 
we  do  contend,  in  all  sobriety,  that  if  one  be  modern 
and  the  other  be  classical,  that  the  one  will  so  aid  the 
other  that  the  mastery  of  both  shall  not  require  double 
the  time  demanded  for  one  alone. 

That  the  Ideal  Scholar  of  the  present  day  should 
be  the  easy  master  of  more  or  fewer  of  the  modern 
languages  may  be  assumed  without  discussion  or  argu- 
ment. At  what  time  the  study  of  the  latter  shall  be- 
gin must  depend  upon  circumstances  which  are  beyond 
the  control  of  many  scholars.  That  it  is  desirable  that 
this  study  "should  begin  very  early  in  life  is  obvious  to 
every  competent  judge.  That  much  valuable  time  is 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


169 


likely  to  be  wasted  if  it  is  not  thus  used  is  equally 
clear.  During  these  early  years  time  seems  so  abun- 
dant as  to  be  inexhaustible,  and  hence  it  is  often  lav- 
ishly thrown  away.  When  the  memory  moves  with 
spontaneous  ease  and  holds  fast  its  gains  without 
effort,  then  is  the  time  to  connect  the  acquisition  of 
one  or  two  modern  languages  with  exercises  in  the 
mother-tongue.  If  such  studies  are  conjoined  with 
moderate  energy  and  skill,  the  light  which  is  reflected 
from  the  one  to  the  other  will  stimulate  curiosity  and 
incite  to  thought.  As  upon  the  naive  study  of  the 
mother  and  foreign  tongue  there  is  superinduced  that 
reflective  study  of  both  which  we  call  grammar,  the 
one  enlivens  the  other,  and  grammar  itself  is  lifted 
above  the  “ Serbonian  bog  ” of  abstract  metaphysics 
into  which  whole  armies  of  jubilant  youth  have  been 
sunk.  Or  at  least  the  stepping-stones  of  this  morass 
will  have  been  made  more  obvious  by  the  play  and 
counter-play  of  their  mutually  reflected  lights.  When 
a boy  thus  favored  enters  upon  the  school,  he  will  have 
made  enormous  gains  if  he  rightly  uses  these  advan- 
tages. Alas ! it  too  often  happens  that  the  boy  thus 
distinguished  is  sated  with  his  intellectual  gains.  He 
finds  his  school-work  so  easy  that  the  habit  of  severe 
and  dogged  effort  is  never  acquired,  or,  at  least,  not 
matured.  The  reflective  and  discriminating  period  of 
his  school-life  is  wasted  or  dawdled  away  for  want  of 
knowledge  or  of  noble  ambition.  When  he  is  intro- 
duced to  the  severer  drills  of  classical  lessons,  his 
previous  training  has  given  him  facility  enough  to 
render  him  independent  of  the  hardest  work.  His 
facile  memory  or  disciplined  wit  serves  as  substitutes 
for  reflective  thought.  The  foundation  was  of  the 
best,  but  the  superstructure  became  frail  and  flimsy. 


170 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


This  comes  of  that  simple  unfaithfulness  to  which 
there  are  many  splendid  exceptions. 

It  depends  largely  on  the  highest  schools  of  learn- 
ing to  decide  whether  a high  ambition  for  thorough 
work  and  classical  learning  shall  animate  the  schools 
below,  and  whether  or  not  the  boys  who  are  peculiarly 
favored  with  opportunities  for  early  culture,  especially 
in  the  languages,  shall  gain  that  classical  facility 
which  is  easily  within  their  reach,  and  submit  to  that 
grammatical  exactness  and  copious  reading  which  are 
the  surest  foundations  for  a correct  and  facile  English 
style.  Should  the  universities  cease  to  require  some 
decent  mastery  of  Greek  and  Latin  as  a condition 
of  their  highest  honors ; should  they,  by  example  or 
dogma,  fail  to  stimulate  and  impart  those  higher  at- 
tainments in  both  these  languages  which  modern  facil- 
ities make  possible,  — the  danger  would  not  be  slight 
that  many  of  those  youths  who  enjoy  special  facilities 
in  childhood  for  linguistic  studies  will  choose  what 
they  will  fancy  is  an  easier  path  to  scholastic  honors. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  sentiment  expressed  by  the 
university  teaching  and  action  should  set  strongly  and 
positively  in  the  opposite  direction,  we  have  every  rea- 
son to  believe  that  the  spirit  which  is  in  the  heart  of 
our  most  cultivated  youth  will  make  itself  manifest  in 
splendid  fruits  of  classical  and  literary  enthusiasm. 

These  questions  concerning  the  study  of  language 
suggest  another  topic,  namely,  the  study  of  literature , 
particularly  the  familiar  acquaintance  with  English 
literature , as  essential  to  the  Ideal  Scholar.  Whatever 
opinions  may  be  held  with  respect  to  the  relative 
claims  of  the  classical  and  modern  languages,  all  men 
agree  in  holding  that  the  cultivated  scholar,  and  in 
these  days  the  cultivated  gentleman,  should  be  famil- 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


171 


iar  with  the  priceless  treasures  of  English  literature 
and  find  in  them  a constant  stimulant  and  delight. 
The  Ideal  Scholar  is  no  dry  philologue  who  is  preoc- 
cupied with  forms  and  facts,  with  dates  and  names, 
but  a thinking  and  feeling  man,  whose  refined  imag- 
ination is  easily  borne  upwards  upon  the  pinions  of 
eloquence  and  song,  and  whose  cultivated  taste  has 
been  disciplined  by  the  perfection  of  diction  in  prose 
or  verse.  If  our  critical  learning  fails  to  stimulate 
and  train  the  imagination  to  this  sensitive  and  enlight- 
ened sympathy  with  literature,  it  may  fail  of  its  most 
important  service. 

Culture  in  this  direction  is  not  in  the  strictest  sense 
of  the  term  scholastic  in  the  conditions  of  its  growth. 
Much  has  been  expected  of  late  from  scholastic  tasks 
and  exercises  in  creating  and  directing  a taste  for 
English  literature.  With  this  view,  careful  studies  in 
Anglo-Saxon  and  Early  English  have  been  introduced 
into  our  higher  schools.  After  the  same  theory,  spe- 
cial critical  studies  of  our  great  English  writers  have 
been  prepared  for  the  same  class  of  scholars.  Some 
good  results  have  been  achieved,  but  much  less  than 
has  been  expected.  The  explanation  of  the  failure 
of  efforts  like  these  has  already  been  hinted  at  in  the 
general  truth,  that  we  study  our  native  language  and 
literature  most  effectually,  other  things  being  equal, 
when  we  see  them  as  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  an- 
other tongue. 

But  while  we  contend  for  this  truth,  we  as  earnestly 
contend  that  the  Ideal  Scholar  cannot  begin  too  early 
to  be  familiar  with  the  best  English  writers,  and  that 
what  he  reads  and  the  manner  in  which  he  reads  are 
of  the  utmost  consequence  to  his  culture  and  his  suc- 
cess in  life.  The  taste  for  reading,  in  the  special 


172 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR 


sense  of  the  phrase,  is  variable  as  to  the  time  and 
character  of  its  development.  To  some  it  comes  in 
early  childhood,  needing  to  be  carefully  directed  and 
often  to  be  rigorously  repressed.  To  others  it  comes 
discouragingly  late,  even  when  the  intellect  is  strong 
and  bright.  It  supposes  some  positive  individual  ac- 
tivity of  thought  or  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  young 
reader,  something  nobler  than  the  mechanical  response 
of  the  passive  imagination,  some  active  recognition  of 
a likeness  between  the  pictures  or  thoughts  of  the 
books  which  we  read,  and  the  memories  and  reflec- 
tions of  the  reader.  Such  a revelation  comes  when  a 
boy  reads  passively  in  a poem  or  a novel,  and  all  at 
once  there  seems  to  start  out  from  the  printed  page 
some  past  experience  of  his  own,  some  familiar  land- 
scape, some  character  such  as  he  has  met  before,  some 
living  picture  of  the  past,  some  serious  thought  or 
earnest  aspiration.  When  a boy  finds  reality  like  this 
in  a book,  then  he  begins  to  read.  If  to  read  is  to 
connect  our  actual  experience  with  what  our  books 
impart,  it  would  seem  to  be  most  desirable  to  connect 
the  reading  of  the  scholar  with  his  severer  studies,  so 
far  at  least  as  such  reading  may  bring  the  matter  of 
his  studies  home  to  his  individual  thinking.  Inas- 
much as  history  should  be  taught  early  in  life  when 
the  memory  is  fresh  and  keen,  it  follows  that  the  ro- 
mance of  history  and  biography  should  be  stimulated 
to  their  utmost  by  the  skilful  use  of  the  manifold 
appliances  which  are  now  so  ready  at  hand.  Here  is 
the  field  for  the  inventive  and  stimulative  power  of 
the  teacher. 

That  his  task  is  not  easy  is  most  obvious.  It  is 
equally  clear  that  something  needs  to  be  done  to  bring 
back  to  our  young  scholars  more  vigorous  and  self- 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR . 


173 


relying  and  self-respecting  habits  of  reading,  in  place 
of  the  mechanical  dawdling  and  superficial  ways  which 
are  the  result  of  our  modern  book-making  and  news- 
papers. Would  that  we  could  draw  off  into  the  sewer 
the  torrent  of  frothy  and  sometimes  nasty  stuff  that 
persistently  tempts  the  youth  of  our  schools  and  col- 
leges, and  could  replace  it  with  a tonic  and  refreshing 
stream ! The  least  that  we  can  say  is,  that  no  youth 
has  begun  to  educate  himself  who  has  not  taken  his 
reading  into  his  own  hands  in  order  to  select  the  mat- 
ter and  direct  the  measure  of  its  use.  Look  out  for 
your  reading , is  the  first  cautionary  and  directive  sig- 
nal which  the  young  scholar  should  set  up  who  begins 
the  work  of  self-culture.  You  may  find  in  your  read- 
ing your  inspiration  and  solace.  You  have  need  of 
care  that  it  does  not  become  your  poison  and  torment. 

The  thought  may  long  ago  have  occurred  to  some  of 
my  hearers  that  the  Ideal  Scholar  which  the  speaker 
has  in  mind  is  the  ideal  scholar  of  other  times  when 
the  physical  universe  was  veiled  to  the  eyes  of  culti- 
vated men,  and  when  nature  was  withholding  those 
wondrous  revelations  which  in  such  swift  succession 
have  since  been  unveiled  to  man’s  wondering  eyes,  — 
which  have  been  subjected  to  the  most  trying  tests 
and  successfully  applied  to  the  arts  and  conveniences 
of  life.  Surely,  it  is  not  only  natural,  but  necessary, 
to  inquire  what  place  this  newly  discovered  Cosmos 
may  claim  in  the  studies  of  cultivated  man,  and  what 
changes  should  follow  in  our  system  of  culture  and 
education. 

To  this  question  I reply,  Nature,  as  now  interpreted 
and  understood,  cannot  and  should  not  be  excluded 
from  the  scholar’s  attention.  The  facts,  the  laws,  the 
theories,  the  experiments,  with  the  changed  concep- 


174 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR . 


tions  of  matter  and  spirit  which  they  warrant,  the 
new  views  of  the  near  and  distant  universe,  the  dis- 
coveries and  arts  which  the  microscope,  the  telescope, 
and  the  spectroscope  have  made  possible,  the  altered 
conceptions  of  matter,  living  and  dead,  and  of  spirit 
in  its  relation  to  both,  — all  these  should  be  familiar 
to  the  man  who  aspires  to  the  culture  of  the  scholar. 
Neither  man  nor  his  institutions,  neither  literature  nor 
history,  can  be  understood  unless  the  cultured  mind 
recognizes  what  science  has  established  as  true,  and 
what  science  threatens  to  destroy.  Tennyson’s  “ In 
Memoriam,”  with  its  depressing  questionings  and  its 
triumphant  faith,  shows  most  emphatically  that  even 
modern  poetry  is  modified  by  scientific  thought.  Every 
newspaper  and  review,  every  history  and  tale  is  pene- 
trated by  the  all-dissolving  or  the  all-assuring  atmos- 
phere of  what  calls  itself  modern  science.  We  cannot 
leave  science  out  of  our  theory  of  education  if  we 
would,  we  would  not  if  we  could.  What  changes 
does  this  changed  condition  of  things  require  in  our 
theory  of  education  ? 

The  first  thought  which  occurs  in  answer  to  this 
question  is,  that  it  invests  the  mathematical  studies 
with  a new  importance,  whether  they  are  viewed  from 
the  standpoint  of  practice  or  of  theory.  Indeed,  all 
men  concede  that  without  a mastery  over  the  pure  and 
applied  mathematics  a mastery  over  modern  science 
is  impossible.  What  grammar  is  to  linguistics  and 
philology,  the  mathematics  are  to  scientific  studies. 
They  are  at  once  the  trainers  and  the  material  of  sci- 
entific thought.  As  trainers  of  the  mind,  they  keep 
ward  and  watch  at  the  vestibule  of  physical  science. 
The  inscription,  “ Let  no  man  enter  herein  unless  he 
can  geometrize has  a new  significance  in  these  mod- 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


175 


ern  times.  Geometry  and  algebra  are  both  grammar 
and  logic  to  the  sciences  of  nature,  as  they  train  to 
the  capacity  of  discerning  the  nicest  distinctions  in  the 
field  of  thought,  and  as  they  enable  us  to  follow  them 
often  tremulously  along  Mahomet's  bridge  of  a single 
hair.  In  a sense  that  is  loftier  and  more  daring ; they 
both  conceal  and  reveal  the  mysteries  of  the  kingdom 
of  nature  and  enable  us  to  interpret  the  very  thoughts 
of  God. 

Next,  scientific  studies  should  be  combined  with 
those  called  literary.  It  is  unnatural  to  divorce  the 
two,  for  the  reason  that  they  are  equally  natural  and 
necessary  to  the  thinking  mind.  An  ideal  education, 
so  far  as  it  proposes  and  effects  a thorough  or  bal- 
anced culture,  requires  that  both  should  be  pursued, 
so  far  at  least  as  to  attain  mastery- of  the  principles 
fundamental  to  both.  The  two  have  always  in  fact 
been  combined  ever  since  the  days  of  Descartes  and 
Newton  when  modern  physics  began  to  be.  To  con- 
tend that  the  one  is  practical  and  the  other  scholastic 
is  to  overlook  the  truly  scientific  in  each  and  what 
gives  the  common  interest  to  both.  To  overlook  and 
to  neglect  the  severer  side  of  physics  is  to  be  faithless 
to  science.  To  attempt  to  turn  schools  of  science  into 
mere  workshops  or  distilleries  is  to  begin  at  the  wrong 
end  of  a lane,  and  soon  to  find  yourself  thrown  out  of 
your  path  and  in  the  region  of  nowhere.  In  other 
words,  to  divide  schools  of  education  too  early  into  the 
so-called  practical  on  the  one  hand  and  the  scholastic 
on  the  other  is  to  overlook  the  very  essence  of  science. 

On  the  other  hand,  physics  as  a science  should  not 
be  taught  too  early,  no  more  should  the  metaphysics 
of  grammar  or  criticism,  and  for  the  common  reason 
that  the  observing  and  retaining  functions  are  devel- 


176 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


oped  before  the  reflective.  For  this  reason  familiarity 
with  the  phenomena  of  nature,  as  these  address  the 
observant  powers  and  appeal  to  the  feelings  and  stim- 
ulate the  imagination,  cannot  be  begun  too  soon  or  be 
too  sedulously  cultivated.  Natural  history  in  all  its 
attractive  branches  can  hardly  be  taught  too  early. 
If  I may  speak  from  a personal  experience,  I shall 
never  cease  to  be  profoundly  grateful  to  one  of  my 
teachers  who  persuaded  me  to  study  botany  with  him 
as  an  extra,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  when  the  adven- 
turous period  which  comes  to  every  boy  was  beckon- 
ing me  to  every  excitement  of  country  life.  The  study 
had  been  wholly  unknown,  and,  with  its  hard  termi- 
nology and  its  careful  analysis,  it  seemed  at  first  any- 
thing but  attractive ; but  I had  not  pursued  it  a month 
before  nature  became  invested  with  unsuspected  mys- 
teries, revealing  to  me  a new  life.  It  taught  me  to 
walk  adventurously  miles  and  miles  through  brush 
and  brier,  over  rocks  and  in  swamps,  fearless  of  snakes 
and  vermin,  to  greet  the  early  sunrise  and  the  late 
sunsets  of  long  summer  days,  in  long  tramps  before 
and  after  school-hours,  till  I had  explored  every  rod 
as  it  would  seem,  within  miles  of  my  country  home. 
And  what  was  my  reward  ? It  gave  me  eyes  and 
ears,  not  only  during  my  eager  youth,  but  for  all  my 
subsequent  life.  It  gave  an  interest  to  my  rambles  in 
open  nature,  which  I have  not  lost  till  this  day.  I 
never  see  one  of  the  formerly  well-known  flowers, 
whether  common  or  rare,  that  I do  not  greet  the  first 
as  a well-known  friend,  and  the  second  as  a friend 
long  parted  and  now  restored.  These  experiments 
were  made  long  ago,  long  before  the  modern  games 
of  base-ball  and  lawn-tennis,  which  at  present  assert 
such  exclusive  possession  of  the  youthful  mind.  We 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


177 


had  base-ball  in  some  sort  then ; but  I am  apt  to  think 
that  if  I had  not  been  so  fortunate  in  my  botanical 
experience  my  life  would  have  been  the  poorer. 

My  experience  with  physics  was  not  dissimilar. 
Upon  this  I stumbled  almost  by  accident.  It  was 
taught  to  the  girls  of  the  school  in  a simple  fashion, 
and  also  to  those  of  the  boys  who  were  not  destined 
to  college  life.  I happened  to  take  it  up  for  evening 
reading,  and  even  now  I can  well  remember  how  my 
mind  exulted  in  its  first  acquaintance  with  the  mys- 
teries of  force  and  law  as  illustrated  by  the  simplest 
experiments,  each  one  of  which  was  a new  surprise. 
I might  speak  of  a similar  accidental  experience  with 
American  history.  I merely  wish  to  enforce  the  opin- 
ion that  in  an  ideal  education  science  and  letters 
should  be  conjoined,  and  that,  whether  the  period  of 
learning  is  longer  or  shorter,  both  elements  should  be 
combined.  The  proportion  between  the  elements  may 
be  diverse,  the  languages  studied  may  not  be  the  same, 
or  if  they  are  the  same  the  methods  of  study  may 
vary  in  some  slight  degree,  while  still  it  remains  true 
that  no  man  is  truly  educated  who  at  some  time  and 
in  some  measure  does  not  cultivate  his  mind  by  the 
reflective  study  of  language  and  the  reflective  study 
of  nature.  The  claims  of  science  can  never,  however, 
be  so  engrossing  as  to  set  aside  the  demand  for  that 
culture  which  comes  from  letters  and  what  letters  im- 
ply. The  one  study  should  never  be  made  an  offset 
against  the  other.  On  the  other  hand,  no  thinking  or 
cultured  man  can  fail  to  be  moved  by  the  wondrous 
revelations  concerning  the  material  and  spiritual  uni- 
verse which  modern  science  has  given  to  man  during 
the  present  century. 

We  should  never  forget  that  the  Ideal  Scholar  is 


178 


THE  IDEAL  SCHOLAR. 


responsive  to  Truth  in  all  her  aspects  and  revelations. 
As  he  gazes  upon  the  face  of  nature  with  an  eye  in- 
structed by  science  and  refined  by  culture,  it  is  bright- 
ened with  the  attractions  of  Beauty,  and  as  he  looks 
more  and  more  intently  there  will  be  awakened  the 
joy  and  adoration  of  Faith. 


BIOGRAPHY. 


I have  been  anxious  to  choose  a subject  for  my 
lecture  which  should  have  to  do  both  with  literature 
and  with  life.  I have  pictured  to  myself  what  now  I 
see  before  me,  an  assemblage  of  young  men  to  whom 
the  two  worlds  — the  world  of  books  and  the  world  of 
men  — were  freshly  and  delightfully  opening.  Let 
me  take  some  subject  for  my  evening’s  talk,  I said  to 
myself,  which  shall  bring  those  two  great  worlds  to- 
gether; and  so  I have  come  to  speak  to  you  about 
Biography. 

Biography  is,  in  its  very  name,  the  literature  of  life. 
It  is  especially  the  literature  of  the  individual  human 
life.  All  true  literature  is  the  expression  of  life  of 
some  sort.  Books  are  the  pictures  into  which  life 
passes  as  the  landscape  passes  through  the  artist’s 
brain  into  the  glowing  canvas,  gaining  thereby  that 
which  it  had  not  in  itself,  but  also  turning  forth  to 
sight  its  own  more  subtle  and  spiritual  meanings. 
And  since  the  noblest  life  on  earth  is  always  human 
life,  the  literature  which  deals  with  human  life  must 
always  be  the  noblest  literature.  And  since  the  indi- 
vidual human  life  must  always  have  a distinctness  and 
interest  which  cannot  belong  to  any  of  the  groups  of 
human  lives,  biography  must  always  have  a charm 
which  no  other  kind  of  history  can  rival. 


180 


BIOGRAPHY . 


I think  that  I would  rather  have  written  a great 
biography  than  a great  book  of  any  other  sort,  as  I 
would  rather  have  painted  a great  portrait  than  any 
other  kind  of  picture.  At  any  rate,  the  writing  of  a 
biography,  or,  indeed,  the  proper  reading  of  it,  re- 
quires one  faculty  which  is  not  very  common,  and  which 
does  not  come  into  action  without  some  experience. 
It  requires  the  power  of  large  vital  imagination,  the 
power  of  conceiving  of  a life  as  a whole.  Do  you 
remember,  when  you  were  a child,  how  vague  the  city 
which  you  lived  in  was  to  you  ? * Certain  houses  in 
the  city,  certain  streets,  you  knew;  but  the  city  as  a 
whole,  — Boston,  or  Springfield,  or  New  York,  — one 
total  thing,  — you  had  to  grow  older  and  make  more 
associations,  and  get  more  ideality,  before  you  could 
lay  hold  of  that.  You  had  to  comprehend  it,  to  grasp 
around  it,  as  it  were.  So  it  is  with  a life.  To  know 
the  list  of  Napoleon’s  achievements,  to  be  able  to 
quote  a page  of  Carlyle’s  writings,  — that  is  one 
thing;  but  to  have  Napoleon  Bonaparte  or  Thomas 
Carlyle  stand  out  distinct,  a complete  being  by  him- 
self, a unit  among  unities,  like  a mountain  rising  out 
of  the  plain,  like  a star  shining  in  the  sky,  — that  is 
another  thing  and  very  different.  That  needs  a spe- 
cial power.  He  who  has  not  that  power  is  not  fit  to 
read,  much  less  fit  to  write,  a biography. 

It  must  always  be  a noteworthy  fact  that  the  great 
book  of  the  world  is  the  story  of  a life.  The  New 
Testament  is  a biography.  Make  it  a mere  book  of 
dogmas,  and  its  vitality  is  gone.  Make  it  a book  of 
laws,  and  it  grows  hard  and  untimely.  Make  it  a 
biography,  and  it  is  a true  book  of  life.  Make  it 
the  history  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and  the  world  holds 
it  in  its  heart  forever.  Not  simply  his  coming  or  his 


BIOGRAPHY. 


181 


going,  not  simply  his  birth  or  his  death,  but  the  liv- 
ing, the  total  life,  of  Jesus  is  the  world’s  salvation. 
And  the  Book  in  which  his  life  shines  orbed  and 
distinct  is  the  world’s  treasure.  There,  as  in  all 
best  biographies,  two  values  of  a marked  and  well- 
depicted  life  appear.  It  is  of  value,  first,  because  it 
is  exceptional,  and  also  because  it  is  representative. 
Every  life  is  at  once  like  and  unlike  every  other. 
Every  good  story  of  a life,  therefore,  sets  before  those 
who  read  it  something  which  is  imitable  and  some- 
thing which  is  incapable  of  imitation  ; and  thereby 
come  two  different  sorts  of  stimulus  and  inspiration. 
It  gives  us  help  like  that  of  the  stars  which  guide  the 
ship  from  without,  and  also  like  that  of  the  fire  which 
burns  beneath  the  engines  of  the  ship  itself. 

But  let  me  come  to  my  Lecture.  I want  to  divide 
what  I have  to  say  to  you  about  biographies  into  three 
parts.  I want  to  speak  to  you  about  the  subjects  of 
biographies,  and  the  writers  of  biographies,  and  the 
readers  of  biographies.  A life  must  first  be  lived, 
and  then  it  must  be  written,  and  then  it  must  be  read, 
before  the  power  of  a biography  is  quite  complete. 

You  sit  some  day  in  your  study  reading  Boswell’s 
Johnson.  Are  there  not  three  people  holding  com- 
munion with  one  another  in  that  silent  room,  — John- 
son and  Boswell  and  you?  Johnson  lived  the  life, 
Boswell  wrote  it,  you  are  reading  it.  It  is  like  the 
sun,  the  atmosphere,  and  the  earth,  making  one  sys- 
tem. The  sun  shines  through  the  atmosphere  to  give 
the  earth  its  warmth  and  richness.  This  is  what 
makes  every  picture  of  a man  reading  and  being  in- 
fluenced by  a biography  an  interesting  thing.  It  is 
the  completeness  of  this  group  of  three.  John  Stuart 


182 


BIOGRAPHY . 


Mill  tells  us  about  the  inspiration  which  came  to  him, 
when  he  was  a young  man,  from  Plato’s  Pictures  of 
Socrates.  And,  among  modern  biographies,  he  re- 
members the  value  which  he  found  in  Condorcet’s 
Life  of  Turgot,  “ a book,”  he  says,  “ well  calculated 
to  rouse  the  best  sort  of  enthusiasm,  since  it  contains 
one  of  the  wisest  and  noblest  of  lives,  delineated  by 
one  of  the  wisest  and  noblest  of  men.”  In  that  sen- 
tence you  can  see  the  three  together,  — Turgot,  Con- 
dorcet,  and  Mill.  In  another  jfart  of  his  autobiog- 
raphy the  same  great  Englishman  records  how  he  was 
rescued  from  extreme  depression  by  the  reading  of 
something  in  the  Memoirs  of  Marmontel,  the  most  pic- 
turesque of  literary  histories.  Or  one  likes  to  think  of 
Dr.  Franklin  lying  on  what  proved  to  be  his  death- 
bed and  listening  to  the  reading  of  Johnson’s  Lives 
of  the  Poets.  There  is  something  very  impressive  in 
letting  our  imagination  picture  the  stately  and  sono- 
rous Doctor  bringing  in  and  introducing  the  singers 
one  by  one  before  the  calm  eyes  of  the  homely  but 
sympathetic  philosopher.  You  ought  never  to  read  a 
biography  without  letting  such  a group  construct  itself 
for  your  imagination.  Johnson,  and  Boswell,  and 
you,  — all  three  are  there  : the  subject,  the  author, 
and  the  reader.  Your  reading  will  be  a live  thing  if 
you  can  feel  the  presence  of  your  two  companions,  and 
make  them,  as  it  were,  feel  yours. 

1.  Let  me  speak,  then,  first,  about  the  subjects  of 
biographies.  I believe  fully  that  the  intrinsic  life  of 
any  human  being  is  so  interesting,  that  if  it  can  be 
simply  and  sympathetically  put  in  words  it  will  be 
legitimately  interesting  to  other  men.  Have  you 
never  noticed  how  anybody,  boy  or  man,  who  talks  to 


BIOGRAPHY. 


183 


you  about  himself  compels  your  attention  ? I say 
u who  talks  about  himself.”  I mean,  of  course,  his 
true  self.  If  he  talks  about  an  unreal,  an  affected, 
an  imaginary  self,  a self  which  he  would  like  to  seem 
to  be,  instead  of  the  self  he  really  is,  he  tires  and  dis- 
gusts you ; but  be  sure  of  this,  that  there  is  not  one  of 
us  living  to-day  so  simple  and  monotonous  a life  that, 
if  he  be  true  and  natural,  his  life  faithfully  written 
would  not  be  worthy  of  men’s  eyes  and  hold  men’s 
hearts.  Not  one  of  us,  therefore,  who,  if  he  be  true, 
and  pure,  and  natural,  may  not,  though  his  life  never 
should  be  written,  be  interesting  and  stimulating  to 
his  fellow-men  in  some  small  circle  as  they  touch  his 
life. 

It  is  this  truth  which  accounts  for  the  power  of  the 
simplest  kind  of  biographies,  — those  which  record 
the  lives  of  obscure  people  who  have  done  no  note- 
worthy work  in  the  world.  I think  of  two  such  books. 
One  of  them  is  the  “ Story  of  Ida,”  the  life  of  an 
Italian  girl  of  exquisite  character,  and  whose  life  was 
the  very  pattern  of  a humble  tragedy.  Mr.  Ruskin, 
in  his  introduction  to  the  book,  says,  with  his  usual 
exaggeration,  that  “ the  lives  in  which  the  public  are 
interested  are  hardly  ever  worth  writing.”  That,  of 
course,  is  quite  untrue.  But  he  goes  on  to  praise  and 
introduce  a sweet  and  simple  story,  which  is  a delight- 
ful illustration  of  the  truth  he  overstates.  It  is  like  a 
flower  plucked  out  of  the  thousands  of  the  field  which, 
besides  the  charm  of  its  own  fragrance,  has  the  other 
value,  that  it  reminds  us  how  fragrant  are  all  the 
flowers  which  still  grow  unplucked  in  the  field  from 
which  this  came.  The  other  book  is  very  different. 
It  is  Thomas  Hughes’s  “ Memoir  of  a Brother,”  the 
story  of  a brave,  hopeful,  consecrated  life,  which  came 


184 


BIOGRAPHY. 


to  no  display,  but  did  its  duty  out  of  sight  and  under 
endless  disappointment,  as  the  stream  wrestles  with 
the  hindrances  which  stop  its  channel  deep  in  the  un- 
trodden woods. 

These  are  the  lives  which  give  us  faith  in  human 
nature,  the  lives  which  now  and  then  it  is  good  for 
somebody  to  write,  if  only  to  remind  us  how  possible 
it  is  for  such  lives  to  be  lived. 

But  we  must  not  let  ourselves  be  misled  by  such 
a statement  as  that  which  I quoted  from  Mr.  Ruskin, 
so  far  as  to  think  that  notable  and  exceptional  lives 
are  not  peculiarly  entitled  to  biography.  Distinction 
is  a legitimate  object  of  our  interest,  if  we  do  not 
over-estimate  its  value.  Distinction  is  the  emphasis 
put  upon  qualities  by  circumstances.  He  who  lis- 
tens to  the  long  music  of  human  history  hears  the 
special  stress  with  which  some  great  human  note  was 
uttered  long  ago,  ringing  down  the  ages  and  min- 
gling with  and  enriching  the  later  music  of  modern 
days.  It  is  a perfectly  legitimate  curiosity  with  which 
men  ask  about  that  resonant,  far-reaching  life.  They 
are  probably  asking  with  a deeper  impulse  than  they 
know.  They  are  dimly  aware  that  in  that  famous,  in- 
teresting man  their  own  humanity  — which  it  is  end- 
lessly pathetic  to  see  how  men  are  always  trying  and 
always  failing  to  understand  — is  felt  pulsating  at  one 
of  its  most  sensitive  and  vital  points.  Let  us  think, 
then,  of  some  of  the  kinds  of  famous  men  whom  our 
biographies  embalm. 

The  first  class  of  men  whose  lives  ought  specially 
to  be  written  and  read  are  those  rare  men  who  pre- 
sent broad  pictures  of  the  healthiest  and  simplest 
qualities  of  human  nature  most  largely  and  attrac- 
tively displayed.  Not  men  of  eccentricities,  not  men 


BIOGRAPHY. 


185 


of  specialties,  but  men  of  universal  inspiration  and 
appeal,  — men,  shall  we  not  say,  like  Shakespeare’s 
Horatio,  to  whom  poor  distracted  Hamlet  cries  : — 

“ Thou  art  e’en  as  just  a man 
As  e’er  my  conversation  coped  with  all.” 


How  heavily  and  confidently  always  the  disturbed  soul 
rests  on  simple  justice. 

I shall  quote  as  illustrations  in  all  my  Lecture  only 
the  biographies  of  English-speaking  men  by  English- 
speaking  men.  And  in  this  first  category  of  biog- 
raphies, preeminent  for  their  broad  humanness,  their 
general  healthiness  of  thought  and  being,  I do  not 
hesitate  a moment  which  to  name.  There  are  two 
lives  which  stand  out  clearly  as  the  two  best  biogra- 
phies ever  written  in  the  English  language.  Carlyle 
says,  “ In  England  we  have  simply  one  good  biog- 
raphy, this  Boswell’s  Johnson.”  Certainly  there  is 
one  other  worthy  to  be  set  beside  it,  which  is  Lock- 
hart’s Scott.  Happy  the  boy  who  very  early  gets  at 
those  two  books,  and  feels  and  feeds  upon  the  broad 
and  rich  humanity  of  the  two  men  whom  they  keep 
ever  picturesque  and  living.  J ohnson  and  Scott,  — so 
human  in  their  strength  and  in  their  weakness,  in 
their  virtues  and  in  their  faults : one  like  a day  of 
clouds  and  storms,  the  other  like  a day  of  sunshine 
and  bright  breezes,  yet  both  like  Nature,  both  real  in 
times  of  unreality,  both  going  bravely  and  Christian ly 
into  that  darkness  and  tragicalness  which  gathered  at 
the  last  on  both  their  lives,  — two  men  worthy  of  hav- 
ing their  lives  written,  fortunate  both  in  the  biogra- 
phers who  wrote  their  lives  ; worthy  to  be  read  and 
re-read,  and  read  again  by  all  men  who  want  to  keep 
their  manhood  healthy,  broad,  and  brave,  and  true ! 


186 


BIOGRAPHY. 


Set  these  two  great  books  first,  then,  easily  first, 
among  English  biographies.  The  streets  of  London 
and  the  streets  of  Edinburgh  live  to-day  with  the 
images  of  these  two  men  more  than  any  others  of  the 
millions  who  have  walked  in  them.  But  in  a broader 
way  the  streets  of  human  nature  still  live  with  their 
presence.  The  unfading  interest  in  Dr.  Johnson  is 
one  of  the  good  signs  of  English  character.  Men  do 
not  read  his  books,  but  they  never  cease  to  care  about 
him.  It  shows  what  hold  the  best  and  broadest  hu- 
man qualities  always  keep  on  the  heart  of  man.  This 
man,  who  had  to  be  coaxed  into  favor  before  a request 
could  be  asked,  and  whose  friends  and  equals  were 
afraid  to  remonstrate  with  him  except  by  a round- 
robin,  was  yet  capable  of  the  truest  delicacy,  the 
purest  modesty,  the  most  religious  love  for  all  that 
was  greater  and  better  than  himself.  But  the  ‘great 
value  of  him  was  his  reality.  He  was  a perpetual  pro- 
test against  the  artificialness  and  unreality  of  that 
strange  eighteenth  century  in  which  he  lived.  And 
Walter  Scott,  who  was  thirteen  years  old  when  Dr. 
Johnson  died,  bore  witness  for  true  humanity  in  the 
next  century,  when  men  were  beginning  to  delight  in 
that  Byronic  scorn  of  life  which  has  deepened  into  the 
pessimism  of  these  later  days,  by  the  healthy  and 
cheery  faith  with  which  he  accepted  the  fact  that,  as 
he  once  wrote,  “ We  have  all  our  various  combats  to 
fight  in  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  and  like  brave 
fellow-soldiers  ought  to  assist  one  another  as  much  as 
possible.” 

Yes,  it  is  good  for  each  new  generation  of  English- 
speaking  boys  as  they  come  on  to  the  stage  of  life  to 
find  two  such  brave  figures  there  already.  Genera- 
tions come  and  go,  but  these  two  brave  men  still  keep 


BIOGRAPHY . 187 

possession  of  the  stage,  and  do  no  man  can  say  how 
much  to  make  and  keep  life  ever  brave  and  true. 

We  come  to  a distinctly  different  type  of  biogra- 
phy when  we  pass  on  to  speak  of  those  men  whose 
written  lives  have  value  not  from  their  broad  human- 
ity, but  from  the  way  in  which  they  gather  up  and 
throw  out  into  clear  light  some  certain  period  of  the 
world’s  history,  some  special  stage  of  human  life. 
Wonderful  is  this  power  which  an  age  has  to  select 
one  of  its  men,  and  crowd  itself  into  him  and  hold 
him  up  before  the  world  and  say,  “Know  me  by 
him ! ” “ The  age  of  Pericles,”  we  say,  or,  “ The 
age  of  Lorenzo  de  Medici,”  and  all  our  study  of  the 
history  of  the  fifth  century  before  Christ,  or  of  the 
fifteenth  century  after  Christ,  could  not  put  us  into 
such  clear  possession  of  those  remarkable  times  as  we 
should  have  if  we  really  could  know  Pericles  or  the 
great  Lorenzo.  Of  all  such  books  for  us  Americans 
the  greatest  must  be  Irving’s  “ Life  of  Washington.” 
“ W ashington,”  says  Irving,  “ had  very  little  private 
life.”  All  the  more  for  that  reason  it  is  true  that  if 
you  master  the  public  life  of  Washington  you  have 
learned  how  this  nation  came  to  be.  His  early  share 
in  the  French  and  Indian  wars,  which  was  like  a trial- 
trip  of  the  ship  which  was  afterwards  to  fight  with 
broader  seas,  his  sympathy  with  the  first  discontents, 
his  slow  approach  to  the  idea  of  Independence,  his 
steadfastness  during  the  war,  his  passage  out  of  mili- 
tary back  to  civil  life,  all  of  these  make  his  career 
characteristic.  It  is  the  history  of  the  time,  all  crowded 
by  a sort  of  composite  photograph  into  him.  Wash- 
ington was  by  no  means  the  cold,  unromantic,  passion- 
less monster  that  men  have  sometimes  pictured  him 
to  be.  It  was  not  lack  of  qualities  but  poise  of  qual- 


188 


BIOGRAPHY . 


ities  that  made  him  calm.  It  was  not  absence  of  color 
but  harmony  of  color  that  made  his  life  white  and 
transparent.  And  so  it  is  with  no  disparagement  of 
the  personal  nature  of  our  great  man  that  we  may 
claim  as  the  special  value  of  his  life  the  way  in  which 
it  sums  up  in  itself  the  picturesque  beginnings  of  our 
history.  Read  it  for  that.  Read  also  Wirt’s  “ Life 
of  Patrick  Henry,”  which  is  the  story  of  another  na- 
ture like  a lens,  more  brilliant  but  not  less  true  than 
Washington’s. 

And  thus  of  many  ages  you  will  find,  if  you  look  for 
it,  the  graphic  man,  who  stands  forever  after  his  age 
has  passed  away  as  its  picture  and  its  commentary. 
Would  you  know  what  sort  of  a thing  English  life 
was  in  the  fifteenth  century,  the  age  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion, of  the  Spanish  Armada,  of  the  discovery  of 
America,  of  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold  ? Read 
the  direct  and  simple  English  of  the  “ Life  of  Cardinal 
Wolsey,”  by  his  gentleman  usher,  George  Cavendish. 
Would  you  catch  the  spirit  of  adventure  which  filled 
the  breezy  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth?  Would  you 
feel  the  throb  of  newly  found  rivers  beating  through 
a great  new  discovered  continent?  Would  you  see 
the  flashes  of  color  and  hear  the  bursts  of  song  which 
came  back  in  those  days  from  mysterious  countries 
which  scientific  discovery  had  not  yet  disenchanted  of 
their  poetry  and  reduced  to  prose  ? W ould  you  know 
what  it  was  to  live  in  one  of  the  mornings  of  the 
world  when  all  the  birds  were  singing  and  all  the  east- 
ern heavens  were  aglow  ? Read  the  “ Life  of  Walter 
Raleigh,”  as  it  has  come  down  to  us  without  a writer’s 
name  from  some  enthusiastic  biographer  of  his  own 
time. 

Demand  everywhere  that  the  inarticulate  life  of  a 


BIOGRAPHY . 


189 


time  shall  utter  itself  in  the  life  of  its  typical  man,  as 
a brooding,  smouldering  fire  bursts  forth  at  one  point 
into  flame.  Do  not  feel  that  you  know  any  age  or 
country  till  you  can  clearly  see  its  characteristic  man. 

The  same  is  true  about  a critical  event.  You  think 
about  the  great  English  Revolution,  that  convulsion 
of  the  seventeenth  century  which  broke  the  power  of 
privilege  in  state  and  church  and  made  possible  all 
that  is  happening  in  England  and  America  to-day,  all 
that  is  going  to  happen  in  the  next  hundred  years, 
which  a man  would  so  like  to  live  and  see.  How  shall 
you  get  the  spirit  and  soul  and  meaning  of  that  great 
event,  and  seem  to  have  actually  seen  it  as  it  came  ? 
You  must  know  its  great  man.  You  must  study  the 
life  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  upon  whom  the  true  histor- 
ical instinct  of  Carlyle  has  fastened  as  the  man  who 
really  did  the  thing,  as  much,  that  is,  as  any  one  man 
did  it,  as  much  as  any  one  man  ever  does  anything  in 
history.  You  must  get  deep  into  him.  You  must  see 
how  he  led  and  was  led ; how  he  made  his  times  and 
was  made  by  them ; how  impossible  it  is  to  take  him 
in  imagination  out  of  those  times  and  set  him  down 
in  any  other.  It  does  not  mean  that  you  are  to  make 
him  slavishly  your  hero  and  think  everything  he  did 
was  right,  but  get  the  man,  his  hates,  his  loves,  his 
dreams,  his  blundering  hopes,  his  noble,  hot,  half- 
forged  purposes,  his  faith,  his  doubt,  get  all  of  these 
in  one  vehement  person  clear  before  your  soul,  and 
then  you  will  know  how  privilege  had  to  go  and  lib- 
erty had  to  come  in  England  and  America. 

And  as  an  age  or  an  event,  so  an  occupation  or  a 
profession  reveals  itself  in  a biography.  Many  of 
our  great  libraries  now  are  divided  and  arranged  both 
horizontally  and  perpendicularly.  All  the  books  on 


190 


BIOGRAPHY. 


one  level  belong  to  the  same  subject ; all  the  books  in 
one  upright  stack  belong  to  the  same  nation.  So  it  is 
with  men  in  history.  You  may  think  of  all  the  peo- 
ple in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  engaged  in  all 
their  different  works.  That  is  the  horizontal  concep- 
tion. Or  you  may  think  of  all  the  poets,  or  all  the 
carpenters,  or  all  the  sailors  in  the  whole  series  of 
ages.  That  is  the  perpendicularity  of  history.  If  you 
take  the  latter  view,  then,  you  want  some  man  in  each 
profession  who  shall  make  that  profession  a reality  to 
you.  Do  you  not  know  what  a soldier  is,  as  no  ab- 
stract book  could  teach  you,  when  you  have  read  the 
pages  which  our  great  American  soldier  wrote  in  the 
days  which  he  so  piteously  begged  of  death  a little  time 
to  tell  the  story  of  his  life  ? He  who  would  under- 
stand the  true  life  of  a pure  scholar,  let  him  read  the 
delightful  story  of  Isaac  Casaubon,  which  was  written 
a few  years  ago  by  Mark  Pattison,  or,  shall  we  say, 
the  life  of  the  pugnacious  Richard  Bentley,  which  was 
written  by  Bishop  Monk,  the  very  model  of  a scholar’s 
life  of  a scholar?  If  you  want  to  see  what  it  may  be 
to  be  a minister,  do  not  look  at  the  parson  of  your 
parish,  but  read  Brooke’s  “ Life  of  Robertson.”  When 
you  want  to  know  how  bravely  and  brightly  the  true 
lover  and  questioner  of  nature  may  pass  his  days,  let 
the  life  of  that  healthiest  of  naturalists,  Frank  Buck- 
land,  be  your  teacher.  Let  adventure  shine  before 
you  in  the  life  of  Livingstone.  In  every  occupation 
you  will  find  some  representative,  some  man  who  did 
that  thing  most  healthily  and  truly.  It  would  be  good, 
I think,  if  in  those  critical  years,  sometimes  so  anxi- 
ously, sometimes  so  very  lightly  passed,  in  which  men 
are  deciding  what  they  are  to  do  with  this  mysterious 
gift  of  God  which  we  call  life,  some  wise  and  sympa- 


BIOGRAPHY . 


191 


thetic  teacher,  in  the  college  or  elsewhere,  should  hold 
a class  in  professional  biography,  and  make  the  most 
representative  man  of  each  profession  tell  not  by  his 
lips,  but  by  his  life,  what  sort  of  man,  and  what  sort 
of  career  his  occupation  makes.  It  might  save,  here 
and  there,  a foolish  choice  and  an  unhappy  life. 

And  yet,  again,  there  is  another  class  of  biographies 
which  gives  us  types,  neither  of  times,  nor  of  events, 
nor  of  professions,  but  of  characters.  Have  you  ever 
read  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury’s  Memoirs,  the  most 
open-hearted  of  autobiographers,  and  felt  his  cheery, 
self-conceited  voice  bragging  in  your  ear  ? — the  very 
perfection  of  that  strange  fantastic  thing  which  his 
strange  century  took  for  a gentleman,  the  selfish  bully 
still  dazzling  his  own  eyes  and  other  men’s  with  the 
glare  of  personal  courage  and  an  easy  generosity. 
Put  alongside  of  his  the  noble  story  which  has  lately 
been  given  to  the  world  by  Leslie  Stephen,  of  his 
friend  Henry  Fawcett,  the  blind  statesman  who,  with 
infinite  patience  and  assiduity  and  resolution  and  in- 
telligence, conquered  the  prizes  of  usefulness  and 
honor  in  the  darkness ; or,  turning  to  the  higher 
power  of  religion,  read  the  story  of  the  manly  piety 
of  Havelock,  the  missionary  faith  of  Patterson,  or  the 
calm  progress  out  of  unbelief  into  a trust  in  God  as 
the  one  refuge  of  the  soul  of  the  fine  intellect  of  Ellen 
Watson, — read  these,  which  are  the  three  best  and 
most  healthy  religious  biographies  I know,  and  feel 
how  character  is  not  a thing  of  which  you  can  tell  the 
nature  in  a list  of  qualities.  It  is  something  human  : 
you  must  see  it  in  a man  ; you  must  watch  it  kindling 
in  an  eye ; you  must  hear  it  ringing  in  a voice ; and 
so  biographies  are  the  best  sermons. 

Our  first  feeling,  I suppose,  is  that  all  great  men 


192 


BIOGRAPHY. 


ought  to  have  their  biographies,  that  all  fine  lives  are 
capable  of  being  finely  written.  And  yet  we  find  out 
by  and  by  that  some  great  men,  some  very  great  men, 
are  unsuited  for  biography.  Shakespeare  has  no  biog- 
raphy; and,  much  as  we  would  like  to  know  what 
happened  to  him  in  his  life,  I think  we  all  feel  doubt- 
ful whether  we  should  get  much  of  increased  and 
deepened  richness  in  our  thought  of  him  if  what  he 
did  and  said  had  been  recorded.  The  poet’s  life  is  in 
his  poems.  The  more  profoundly  and  spiritually  he 
is  a poet,  the  more  thoroughly  this  is  true,  the  more 
impossible  a biography  of  him  becomes.  Where  is 
the  life  of  Shelley  that  gives  you  any  notion  of  the 
beauty  of  his  soul  ? The  Skylark  and  the  Cenci  and 
the  Adonais  are  the  real  events  in  his  history.  You 
fill  yourself  with  them  and  you  know  him.  The  same 
is  true  of  Wordsworth.  There  is  not,  there  cannot 
be,  any  very  valuable  biography  of  him.  For  this  rea- 
son, I think  that  the  young  reader  ought  to  become 
well  accustomed  to  reading  the  whole  works  of  an 
author  whom  he  really  wants  to  know.  I believe  in 
those  long,  comely  series  of  books  labelled  Complete 
Works.  If  you  read  a poet’s  masterpieces,  you  know 
them.  If  you  have  read  everything  which  he  has 
written,  you  know  him.  When  you  have  become  con- 
vinced that  some  great  author,  particularly  some  great 
poet,  is  really  worthy  of  your  study,  that  you  must 
have  him  not  simply  as  a recreation  of  an  idle  hour 
but  as  the  companion  of  your  life,  then  go  and  get  all 
his  works ; put  them,  as  near  as  may  be,  in  the  order 
in  which  he  wrote  them,  and  read  them  once,  at  least, 
straight  through  from  end  to  end.  Let  your  library, 
as  it  slowly  grows,  abound  in  “ complete  works ; ” so 
you  have  men,  entire  men,  upon  your  shelves,  if  you 


BIOGRAPHY. 


193 


are  man  enough  to  bid  them  live  for  you.  This  is, 
after  all,  the  subtlest  form  in  which  the  biography  of 
writing  men  can  take  its  shape,  and  for  many  writing 
men  it  is  the  only  form  of  biography  which  is  pos- 
sible. 

I must  not  say  more  about  the  subjects  of  biog- 
raphy. These  kinds  of  men  which  I have  hurriedly 
named  are  the  kinds  of  men  about  whom  other  men 
will  ask,  and  so  about  whom  books  will  be  written. 
These  are  the  stars  which,  being  in  the  heaven  of 
human  life,  and  having  some  special  color  or  some 
special  light,  must  shine.  There  are  others  no  less 
true  and  worthy  of  men’s  sight  than  they,  which  no 
man  sees. 

I want  to  speak  now  of  the  men  who  write  biog- 
raphies, the  authors.  And,  first  of  all,  there  are  the 
men  who  are  their  own  biographers,  — the  men  who, 
as  the  end  of  life  approaches,  gather  up  their  experi- 
ences and  tell  the  world  about  themselves  before  they 
go.  In  the  great  Uffizi  Gallery  at  Florence  there  is 
a large  assemblage  of  the  portraits  of  the  great  artists, 
painted  by  themselves.  Nobody  can  enter  that  vast, 
splendid  room,  thronged  with  its  silent  company,  and 
not  be  conscious  of  a special  sacredness  and  awe. 
Here  is  the  way  in  which  the  great  artists  looked  to 
themselves.  Thus  it  was  that  Raphael  saw  the  painter 
of  the  Sistine  Madonna,  and  thus  Leonardo  conceived 
the  painter  of  the  Last  Supper.  It  is  the  man  him- 
self telling  the  story  of  himself  to  himself.  No  won- 
der that  each  stands  out  there  with  a peculiarly  clear 
and  personal  distinctness. 

What  that  room  is  in  art,  a library  of  autobiog- 
raphies is  in  human  life.  People  like  to  tell  us  that 


194 


BIOGRAPHY. 


we  do  not  know  ourselves  so  well  as  our  neighbors 
know  us.  I rather  think  that  few  maxims  are  less 
true  than  that.  Our  neighbors  know  our  little  tricks, 
of  which  we  are  unconscious ; but  any  one  of  us  who 
is  at  all  thoughful  knows  his  real  heart  and  nature 
as  no  other  man  has  begun  to  know  them.  There- 
fore, he  who  will  really  tell  us  about  himself  makes  his 
life  stand  forth  very  distinctly  in  its  unity,  its  sepa- 
rateness, its  reality. 

English  literature  is  rich  in  autobiography.  It  has, 
indeed,  no  tale  so  deep  and  subtle  as  that  which  is 
told  in  the  Confessions  of  St.  Augustine.  It  has  no 
such  complete  and  unreserved  unbosoming  of  a life  as 
is  given  by  the  strange  Italian,  Benvenuto  Cellini, 
who  is  the  very  prince  of  unconcealment.  But  there 
is  hardly  any  self-told  life  in  any  language  which  is 
more  attractive  than  the  autobiography  of  Edward 
Gibbon,  in  which  he  recounts  the  story  of  his  own 
career  in  the  same  stately,  pure  prose  in  which  he 
narrates  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  Rome.  It  must 
have  needed  a great  faith  in  a man’s  self  to  write  those 
sonorous  pages.  Two  passages  in  them  have  passed 
into  the  history  of  man.  One  is  that  in  which  he  de- 
scribes how,  in  Rome,  on  the  15th  of  October,  1764, 
as  he  sat  musing  amid  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol,  while 
the  barefooted  friars  were  singing  vespers  in  the 
Temple  of  Jupiter,  the  idea  of  writing  the  decline 
and  fall  of  the  city  first  started  in  his  mind.  The 
other  is  the  passage  in  which  the  great  historian  re- 
cords how,  on  the  night  of  the  27th  of  June,  1787, 
between  the  hours  of  eleven  and  twelve,  he  wrote  the 
last  lines  of  the  last  page  in  a summer-house  at  Lau- 
sanne, and  how  then,  laying  down  his  pen,  he  “ took 
several  turns  in  a berceau , or  covered  walk  of  acacias, 


BIOGRAPHY. 


195 


which  commanded  a prospect  of  the  country,  the  lake, 
and  the  mountains.”  The  story  is  all  very  solemn 
and  exalted.  It  is  full  of  the  feeling  that  the  begin- 
ning and  ending  of  a great  literary  work  is  as  great 
an  achievement  as  the  foundation  and  completion  of 
an  empire,  — as  worthy  of  record  and  of  honor  ; and 
as  we  read  we  feel  so  too. 

A greater  autobiography  than  Edward  Gibbon’s  is 
our  own  Benjamin  Franklin’s.  Franklin  had  exactly 
the  genius  and  temperament  of  an  autobiographer. 
He  loved  and  admired  himself ; but  he  was  so  bent 
upon  analysis  and  measurement  that  he  could  not 
let  even  himself  pass  without  discrimination.  The 
style  is  like  Defoe.  Indeed,  we  are  pleased  to  find 
that  he  placed  great  value  both  on  Defoe  and  Bun- 
yan,  whose  stories  are  told  so  like  his  own.  He 
watches  his  own  life  as  he  watched  one  of  his  own 
philosophical  experiments.  He  flies  his  existence  as 
he  flew  his  kite,  and  he  tells  the  world  about  it  all 
just  as  a thoughtful  boy  might  tell  his  mother  what  he 
had  been  doing,  — sure  of  her  kindly  interest  in  him. 
The  world  is  like  a mother  to  Ben  Franklin  always: 
so  domestic  and  familiar  is  his  thought  of  her.  He 
who  has  read  this  book  has  always  afterwards  the 
boy-man  who  wrote  it  clear  and  distinct  among  the 
men  he  knows. 

Of  autobiographies  of  our  own  time  there  are  three 
which  are  full  of  characteristic  life.  There  is  John 
Stuart  Mill’s  life  of  himself,  so  wonderfully  cold,  and 
calm,  and  clear,  yet  with  the  warmth  of  subdued  pos- 
sibilities of  passion  always  burning  in  it,  — a very  sea 
of  glass,  mingled  with  fire.  There  is  the  story  of 
James  Nasmyth,  the  Scotch  engineer  and  astronomer, 
written  by  himself,  — the  happiest  life,  in  the  most  nat- 


196 


BIOGRAPHY. 


ural  and  simple  elements  of  happiness,  I think,  that 
one  can  find.  And  I must  add,  although  we  have  only 
a fragment  of  it  yet,  the  autobiography  of  General 
Grant,  the  soldier  who  hated  war ; the  American  who 
had  the  spirit  of  the  institutions  of  his  country  filling 
him  ; the  author  who,  without  literary  training  or  pre- 
tension, or  almost,  one  may  say,  the  literary  sense  at 
all,  has  written  in  a style  which  has  this  great  quality, 
that  it  is  like  a simple,  brave,  true  man’s  talk. 

Let  men  like  these  talk  to  you  and  tell  you  of  them- 
selves. Being  dead,  they  yet  can  speak.  How  good 
it  is  sometimes  to  leave  the  crowded  world,  which  is 
so  hot  about  its  trifles,  and  go  into  the  company  of 
these  great  souls  which  are  so  calm  about  the  most 
momentous  things  ! 

Next  to  the  autobiography  comes  the  life  which  is 
written  by  some  one  who  is  of  near  kindred  or  of  close 
association  with  the  man  of  whom  he  writes.  In  such 
lives  the  feeling  of  gratitude  and  personal  friendship 
comes  in  and  makes  an  atmosphere  which  takes  in  him 
who  reads  as  well  as  the  subject  and  the  author  of  the 
book.  Of  such  biographies  there  is  no  happier  or 
more  fascinating  instance  than  the  Memoir  of  Profes- 
sor Agassiz  which  Mrs.  Agassiz  gave  to  the  world  a 
few  months  ago.  It  is  the  picture  of  a sweet,  strong 
nature  turning  in  its  first  young  simplicity  to  noble 
things,  and  keeping  its  simplicity  through  a long  life 
by  its  perpetual  association  with  them.  It  is  a human 
creature  loving  the  earth  almost  as  we  can  imagine 
that  a beast  loves  it,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  study- 
ing it  like  a wise  man.  The  sea  and  the  glacier  tell 
him  their  secrets.  In  his  very  dreams  the  extinct 
fishes  build  again  for  him  their  lost  construction. 
There  is  a cool,  bright  freshness  in  every  page.  The 


BIOGRAPHY. 


197 


boy  of  twenty-two  rolls  himself  in  the  snow  for  joy. 
The  man  has  himself  let  down  a hundred  and  twenty- 
five  feet  into  the  cold,  blue,  wonderful  crevasse  to  see 
how  the  ice  is  made.  Finally,  the  New  World  tempts 
him,  and  he  becomes  the  apostle  of  science  to  America. 
All  this  is  told  us  out  of  the  lips  which  have  the  best 
right  to  tell  it. 

Take  another  biography.  I do  not  know  whether 
you  boys  are  inclined  to  think  that  if  you  were  school- 
teachers you  would  want  to  have  one  of  your  scholars 
write  your  history.  There  is  a common  notion  about 
school  life,  — one  of  the  stupid  traditions  which  have 
an  ounce  of  truth  to  eleven  ounces  of  falsehood  in 
them,  — that  school-teachers  and  school-boys  are  nat- 
ural foes  and  cannot  understand  each  other.  And  yet 
Arthur  Stanley  wrote  the  life  of  Dr.  Thomas  Arnold, 
his  teacher  in  the  old  school  at  Rugby,  in  such  a way 
that  the  great  master’s  fame  has  been  set  like  a jewel 
firm  and  bright  in  the  record  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury; and  school-teaching  owes  no  little  of  its  new 
dignity  and  attractiveness  to  that  delightful  book.  It 
has  added  a name  to  history,  and  almost  a new  sister 
to  the  family  of  the  high  arts. 

Suppose  that  you  could  have  the  privilege  of  sitting 
down  with  Mrs.  Agassiz  and  hearing  her  tell  of  the 
great  naturalist  and  the  enthusiastic,  child  - hearted, 
lion-hearted  man  ! Suppose  that  you  could  walk  with 
Dean  Stanley  and  hear  him  tell  about  his  great  mas- 
ter, to  whom  he  owed  so  much  of  his  learning  and  his 
character  ! You  can  do  both  these  things  if  you  will 
read  these  books.  The  nature  of  the  men  they  write 
of  will  come  through  the  kindred  natures  and  the 
warm  love  of  those  who  write  about  them.  It  is  sun- 
shine poured  through  sunlight.  So  the  story  of  Wil- 


198 


BIOGRAPHY. 


liarn  Lloyd  Garrison,  told  by  his  children,  has  a cer- 
tain richness  about  it  which  comes  from  the  sympathy 
with  his  work  which  was  fed  in  the  home  and  at  the 
very  table  of  the  great  emancipator  when  these  biog- 
raphers were  boys.  So  the  life  of  Nathaniel  Haw- 
thorne, by  Julian  Hawthorne,  while  it  has  the  faults 
has  also  much  of  the  charm  which  belongs  to  a son’s 
life  of  a father,  — the  charm  of  ancestral  genius  re- 
flected through  an  hereditary  genius  like  itself. 

Besides  these  two,  the  autobiography  and  the  friend’s 
biography,  there  remains  the  great  mass  of  biographies 
which  must  of  necessity  be  the  work  of  authors  far 
removed  from  the  subjects  about  whom  they  write, 
perhaps  of  quite  different  habits  and  associations. 
The  biographer  of  M.  Pasteur  calls  the  book  which 
tells  his  story,  “La Vie  d’un  Savant  parun  ignorant,” 
and  as  we  read  we  easily  see  that  there  is  some  advan- 
tage for  us  in  the  fact  that  the  author  who  writes 
writes  from  the  outside,  and  is  not  himself  a proficient 
in  the  knowledge  and  the  art  in  which  the  great  French 
naturalist  excels.  There  is  a quiet  school-master  at 
Harrow  who  spends  his  placid  life  in  hearing  school- 
boy lessons  all  day  long,  who,  nevertheless,  has  written 
a biography  of  a soldier,  a statesman,  a ruler  of  men, 
— the  picturesque  and  heroic  Lord  Lawrence,  ruler 
of  the  Punjaub  and  subduer  of  the  Indian  mutiny,  — 
which  makes  that  terrible  time  live  again  and  all  its 
awful  lessons  burn  like  fire.  This  noble  and  most 
interesting  book  of  Bosworth  Smith  is  a fine  instance 
of  the  kind  of  biography  whose  writer  is  neither 
bound  by  kindred  nor  identified  by  similarity  of  oc- 
cupation with  his  hero.  This  author  had  never  even 
seen  the  far-off  gorgeous  India  in  which  his  drama 
was  enacted,  nor  had  he  had  anything  to  do  with  mili- 


BIOGRAPHY. 


199 


tary  life.  Such  books  as  his  mean  something  differ- 
ent from  the  personal  interest  in  one’s  own  life  from 
which  comes  the  autobiography,  something  different 
from  the  desire  to  raise  a monument  to  a dear  friend, 
or  to  perpetuate  a special  bit  of  history.  They  mean 
that  large  and  healthy  sense  which  feels  that  every 
strong  human  career  must  have  in  it,  whatever  its  par- 
ticular field  of  action  may  have  been,  something  which 
belongs  to  all  humanity,  and  which  it  will  do  all  hu- 
man creatures  good  to  know.  Such  a book,  therefore, 
is  a token  of  the  humanness  both  of  him  who  writes  it 
and  of  him  about  whom  it  is  written.  Take  another. 
Take  Professor  Masson’s  Life  of  John  Milton.  He 
who  wants  to  know  what  was  done  in  England  during 
the  great  years  which  filled  the  middle  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  may  read  that  book,  and  one  might 
almost  say  that  he  need  read  no  other,  so  vitally  does 
the  great  Puritan  poet  stand  in  the  centre  of  the  great 
tumult  of  human  life,  and  so  vitally  does  the  human- 
ity of  his  biographer  feel  him  standing  there. 

Great  as  is  the  charm  which  other  writers  have,  this 
writer,  who  writes  solely  because  the  man  of  whom 
he  writes  seems  to  him  to  belong  to  all  mankind  and 
to  have  something  to  say  to  every  age,  must  always 
have  a charm  deeper  than  any  other.  Great  is  he 
who  in  some  special  vocation,  as  a soldier,  a governor, 
a scientist,  does  good  and  helpful  work  for  fellow-man. 
Greater  still  is  he  who,  doing  good  work  in  his  special 
occupation,  carries  within  his  devotion  to  it  a human 
nature  so  rich  and  true  that  it  breaks  through  his  pro- 
fession and  claims  the  love  and  honor  of  his  fellow- 
men,  simply  and  purely  as  a man.  His  is  the  life 
which  some  true  human  eye  discerns,  and  some  loving 
and  grateful  hand  makes  the  subject  of  a picture  to 
which  all  men  enthusiastically  turn. 


200 


BIOGRAPHY ; 


I cannot  help  fearing  that  in  my  evening’s  talk  thus 
far  I have  hastily  named  too  many  of  the  great  works 
of  biography  with  which  our  literature  is  filled,  and 
so  have  not  made  so  clear  as  I should  wish  the  subject 
of  biography  in  general.  It  is  a bad  fault  always  so 
to  paint  the  picture  that  men  cannot  see  the  forest 
for  the  trees.  If,  however,  I have  tempted  any  of 
my  young  hearers  to  read  any  of  the  books  which  I 
have  named,  my  fault  has  not  been  wholly  faulty. 
But  as  I pass  on  to  say  a few  words  of  my  third  topic, 
the  Reader  of  Biography,  let  me  speak  more  gener- 
ally. 

First  of  all,  what  must  the  reader  bring  in  order  to 
get  the  real  life  out  of  the  biography  he  reads  ? I 
answer  in  one  word,  a true  life  of  his  own.  Reading 
the  story  of  a man  whom  you  admire,  whose  charac- 
ter is  bright  and  splendid  before  you,  may  be  the 
worst  thing  you  can  do,  unless  you  meet  it  with  a 
character  and  manhood  which  turns  what  you  read 
into  your  own  shape  and  appropriates  this  other  man’s 
vitality  into  its  own.  The  object  of  reading  biog- 
raphy, it  cannot  be  too  earnestly  or  too  often  said,  is 
not  imitation,  but  inspiration.  Imitation  does  not  re- 
quire life  ; inspiration  does.  For  imitation  you  need 
nothing  but  a lump  of  clay  or  putty ; for  inspiration 
you  must  have  a pair  of  lungs.  When  will  all  teach- 
ers and  all  scholars  learn  that  behind  all  acquirements 
there  must  lie  character  and  powers,  behind  all  learn- 
ing  you  must  have  life  ? Before  you  can  get  mental 
training  you  must  get  a mind ; before  you  can  learn 
to  live  well  you  must  learn  to  live  ; before  one  can 
become  something  one  must  be  something.  “ To  him 
that  hath,”  so  Jesus  tells  us,  “ to  him  shall  be  given.” 
Therefore,  to  the  lives  of  other  men  you  must  carry  a 


BIOGRAPHY. 


201 


true  life  of  your  own,  — convictions,  intentions,  resolu- 
tions, a true  character.  Then  your  career  will  not  be 
swamped  by  theirs,  though  theirs  may  give  to  yours 
color  and  direction  ; then  they  will  make  you  wiser, 
stronger,  braver,  but  they  will  leave  you  still  yourself. 
Here  is  the  only  danger  which  I know  in  the  reading 
of  biographies,  lest  he  who  reads  shall  lose  himself, 
shall  come  to  be  not  himself,  but  the  feeble  repetition 
of  some  other  man.  It  is  the  danger  which  attends 
all  friendship,  all  personal  intercourse  of  man  with 
man.  Your  own  responsibilities,  your  own  chances, 
your  own  thoughts,  your  own  hopes,  your  own  religion, 
which  are  different  from  those  of  any  other  man  who 
ever  lived,  those  you  must  keep  sacred,  and  then  sum- 
mon the  inspiration  of  the  greatest  and  most  vital  men 
whom  you  can  find  to  touch  your  life  with  their  fire, 
and  make  you  not  what  they  are,  but  more  thoroughly 
and  energetically  yourself. 

And,  then,  bringing  and  keeping  this  life  of  his 
own,  what  sort  of  biographies  shall  any  special  young 
man  select  to  read?  Two  sorts,  I answer.  Those  of 
men  most  like  himself  in  character  and  vocation,  and 
those  of  men  who  are  most  unlike.  Let  him  read  the 
first  sort  for  light  and  intensity ; let  him  read  the 
second  for  sympathy  and  breadth.  Here  is  a young 
naturalist.  Let  him  read  the  life  of  Agassiz  of  which 
I spoke.  What  preparation  can  be  better  for  the  life 
that  is  to  deal  immediately  with  nature  than  to  see 
how  nature  filled  and  satisfied  a very  large,  rich  hu- 
man life ; what  a great,  fresh,  happy,  and  hopeful  man 
it  made ; how  sacred  nature  was  to  him  ? Such  a life 
well  read  must  rescue  the  pursuit  of  natural  science 
from  its  abstractness,  and  clothe  it  with  human  inter- 
est. Before  I undertake  any  work,  I think  that  it 


202 


BIOGRAPHY . 


will  do  me  good  to  meet,  and  walk  through  the  pages 
of  his  biography  with,  the  best  and  greatest  man  who 
ever  did  that  thing  before.  My  work,  when  I go  forth 
to  do  it,  will  seem  at  once  more  real  and  more  ideal, 
more  familiar  and  more  exalted,  for  such  reading. 
But  at  the  same  time  my  young  naturalist  should  also 
read  such  a book  as  Dr.  Holmes’s  Life  of  Emerson. 
He  should  see  how  full  of  strength  and  goodness  a 
man  might  be  who  knew  nothing  of  scientific  studies ; 
he  should  learn  the  poetic  and  philosophic  values  of 
the  stars,  and  the  mountains,  and  the  field ; he  should 
provide  himself  with  humility  by  learning  the  dignity 
and  worth  of  thought  and  knowledge,  which  it  is  be- 
yond his  power  or  outside  of  his  range  to  attain. 
These  two  lives  together,  one  showing  him  the  great- 
ness of  what  he  can  do,  the  other  showing  him  the 
greatness  of  what  he  cannot  do  ; one  making  his  pur- 
pose more  intense,  the  other  making  his  sympathy 
more  extensive ; both  of  them  he  should  read  with 
reverence  and  love. 

And  how  should  a biography  be  read  ? I answer, 
with  as  little  of  the  literary  sense  as  possible.  A 
biography  is,  indeed,  a book ; but  far  more  than  it  is 
a book  it  is  a man.  Insist  on  seeing  and  knowing 
the  man  whom  it  enshrines.  Never  lay  the  biography 
down  until  the  man  is  a living,  breathing,  acting  per- 
son to  you.  Then  you  may  close,  and  lose,  and  forget 
the  book ; the  man  is  yours  forever.  It  is  a poor  tele- 
scope that  keeps  you  thinking  of  its  lens  and  does  not 
make  you  possess  the  star.  I said  about  an  hour  ago 
that  the  great  Christian  book  was  a biography.  The 
Gospels  are  the  greatest  biography  that  was  ever  writ- 
ten. And  how  little  literary  feeling  there  is  about 
the  Gospels.  How  we  hardly  think  about  them  as 


BIOGRAPHY . 


203 


a book.  How  it  is  the  blessed  man  whom  we  see 
through  their  colorless  transparency  that  occupies  our 
attention  and  our  thoughts ! To  read  a biography 
must  be  to  see  a man,  — Johnson  or  Scott  or  Macau- 
lay. Boswell  or  Lockhart  or  Trevelyan  must  only  be 
the  friend  who  brings  the  two,  you  and  Johnson  or 
Macaulay  or  Scott,  together. 

I think  that  the  reading  of  many  biographies  ought 
to  be  begun  in  the  middle.  It  seems  a disorderly  sug- 
gestion, but  it  has  reason  in  it.  It  is  the  way  in  which 
you  come  to  know  a man.  You  touch  his  life  at  some 
point  in  its  course  ; you  find  it  full  of  attractive  activ- 
ity ; you  grow  interested  in  what  he  is  doing.  So  you 
grow  interested  in  him,  and  then,  not  till  then,  you  care 
to  know  how  he  came  to  be  what  you  find  him,  — what 
his  training  was ; what  his  youth  was ; who  his  par- 
ents were,  perhaps  who  his  ancestors  were,  and  who 
was  the  first  man  of  his  name  who  came  over  to  Amer- 
ica, and  where  that  progenitor’s  other  descendants 
have  settled.  The  same  is  true,  I think,  of  a biog- 
raphy. Indeed,  I have  often  wondered  whether  a 
biography  might  not  be  written  in  that  way.  Let 
the  Life  of  General  Grant  begin  with  the  story  of 
Shiloh  or  of  Vicksburg,  and  when  that  glowing  nar- 
rative has  thoroughly  interested  the  reader  in  the 
great  soldier,  then  let  us  hear  about  the  childhood  in 
Ohio,  and  the  early  life  at  West  Point,  and  St.  Louis, 
and  Galena.  Probably  biographers  will  not  write  so 
for  us  ; but  we  may  sometimes  read  thus  the  biogra- 
phies which  they  have  written  in  the  dull  order  of 
chronology,  and  find  them  full  of  livelier  and  deeper 
interest. 


And  now  what  is  it  all  for  ? I must  not  talk  so 


204 


BIOGRAPHY. 


long  as  I have  talked  to-night,  about  a certain  kind 
of  literature,  and  urge  you  to  give  it  a high  place  in 
your  reading  without  trying,  before  I close,  to  gather 
up  in  simple  statement  the  good  results  which  have 
come  to  many,  and  which  will  come  to  you  from  an 
intelligent  reading  of  biography.  I mention  four  par- 
ticulars. 

It  gives  reality  to  foreign  lands  and  distant  times. 
There  is  no  land  so  foreign  and  no  time  so  distant 
that  a familiar  personality,  set  by  imagination  in  the 
midst  of  it,  will  not  make  it  familiar.  Some  friend 
of  yours  goes  to  live  in  Venice  or  Bombay,  and 
how  immediately  your  vision  of  that  remote  scene 
brightens  into  vividness.  The  place  belongs  to  you. 
The  Grand  Canal  and  the  Caves  of  Elephanta  are 
real  things.  You  see  your  friend  floating  on  the 
“ tremulous  street,”  or  losing  himself  in  the  gloom 
of  the  solemn  cavern.  Or  you  are  able  to  picture  to 
yourself  how  this  other  friend  would  have  behaved 
in  the  days  of  Luther.  You  can  imagine  him  back 
into  the  tumult  of  the  Reformation.  And  straight- 
way the  Reformation  days  are  here.  Luther  is  de- 
nouncing Tetzel  in  your  study.  Biography  does  the 
same  thing  for  us,  only  better.  It  takes  the  man 
who  really  lived  in  Venice  or  Bombay  or  Wittenburg 
and  makes  him  real.  It  makes  him  live,  and  straight- 
way all  his  time  and  place  lives  with  him,  as  all  the 
heavens  spring  into  glory  when  the  sun  clothes  itself 
with  light.  With  each  man  who  becomes  a living 
being  to  you,  a whole  new  world  comes  into  being. 
Each  new  man  is  a new  sun.  In  all  our  minds  there 
are  regions  of  recognized  but  unrealized  space  and 
time,  only  waiting  for  us  to  set  a real  living  human 
life  into  the  midst  of  them  to  make  them  open  into 
reality  and  glow  with  life. 


BIOGRAPHY. 


205 


Still  more  important  and  interesting  are  the  regions 
of  thought  which  are  unreal  to  me  until  some  man 
stands  in  the  midst  of  them  and  lights  them  up.  I 
read  the  history  of  metaphysics.  I open  and  study 
the  great  heavy  tomes.  If  my  tastes  are  in  quite  other 
directions  I say,  “ How  dull  this  whole  thing  is  ! How 
vague  and  dreary  these  abstractions  are  ! ” And  then 
I turn  and  read  the  life  of  some  great  metaphysician, 
and  how  everything  is  changed.  I do  not  understand 
this  great  science  any  more  than  I did  before,  but  I 
see  him  understand  it.  The  enthusiasm  trembles  in 
his  voice,  the  light  kindles  in  his  eye,  as  he  talks  and 
looks  upon  these  abstract  propositions  which  appeared 
to  me  so  dreary.  It  cannot  be  but  that  they  catch  his 
light.  The  whole  world  which  they  make  is  real  to 
me  through  his  reality.  My  universe  is  larger  by  this 
great  expanse.  So  one  world  after  another  kindles 
into  vividness  when  I see  its  human  inhabitant.  The 
world  of  music,  the  world  of  mathematics,  the  world 
of  politics,  the  world  of  charity,  the  world  of  religion, 
each  is  a real  world  to  me  when  in  the  midst  of  it 
stands  its  real  man. 

Again,  think  what  must  be  the  effect  upon  per- 
sonal character  of  the  reading  of  a great  biography. 
If  it  is  really  a great  life  greatly  told,  like  Johnson’s, 
or  like  Scott’s,  two  convictions  grow  up  in  us  as  we 
read  : first,  this  man  was  vastly  greater  than  I can 
ever  be;  and,  second,  this  man,  great  as  he  is,  is  of 
the  same  human  sort  that  I am  of,  and  so  I may  at- 
tain to  the  same  kind  of  greatness  which  he  reached. 
The  first  conviction  brings  humility,  the  second  brings 
encouragement.  And  humility  and  encouragement  to- 
gether, each  by  its  very  presence  saving  the  other 
from  the  vices  to  which  it  is  most  inclined,  these  are 


206 


BIOGRAPHY. 


the  elements  which  make  the  noblest  character  and 
the  happiest  life.  To  be  humble  because  we  are  our- 
selves ; to  be  courageous  because  we  are  part  of  the 
great  humanity,  and  because  all  that  any  man  in  any 
time  has  done  in  some  true  sense  belongs  to  us,  in 
some  true  sense  we  did  it ; to  catch  the  two  certain- 
ties, one  of  the  identity  of  mankind  and  the  other 
of  the  essential  and  eternal  distinctness  of  every  man, 
even  the  most  cheap  and  insignificant ; to  hold  these 
two  convictions  in  their  true  poise  and  proportion ; to 
let  them  make  for  us  one  unity  of  character,  this  is 
a large  part  of  the  secret  of  good  living,  and  no  kind 
of  book  helps  us  to  this  so  much  as  a good  biog- 
raphy. 

But,  finally,  may  we  not  say  that  the  supreme  bless- 
ing of  biography  is  that  it  is  always  bathing  the  spe- 
cial in  the  universal,  and  so  renewing  its  vitality  and 
freshness?  Our  little  habits  grow  so  hard.  We  get 
so  set  in  our  small  ways  of  doing  things.  We  be- 
come creatures  of  this  moment  of  time  on  which  we 
happen  to  have  fallen.  The  power  of  dull  fashion 
and  routine  takes  possession  not  merely  of  the  way  we 
dress  and  talk,  but  of  the  way  we  think.  Our  schools 
have  their  cheap  little  standards,  and  our  colleges 
have  theirs,  and  our  professions  theirs,  and  every  duty 
makes  more  of  the  way  in  which  it  is  done  than  of 
the  divine  meaning  and  motive  of  doing  it  at  all ; all 
gets  to  seem  parched  and  hardened  like  a midsummer 
plain,  and  then  you  take  up  your  great  biography  and 
as  you  read  is  it  not  as  if  the  fountains  were  flung 
open  and  the  great  river  came  pouring  down  over  the 
arid  desert?  The  local  standard,  the  mere  arbitrary 
fashion  of  the  moment,  disappears  in  the  great  rich- 
ness of  human  life ; the  part  bathes  itself  in  the 


BIOGRAPHY. 


207 


whole ; the  morbid  becomes  healthy ; the  peculiar  is 
freed  from  any  haunting  affectation,  and  becomes  sim- 
ply that  individual  expression  of  the  universal  which 
every  true  man  must  be. 

Do  we  say  that  all  this  may  come  through  large  as- 
sociation with  our  living  fellow-men  without  reading 
about  the  dead  ? Much  of  it  may,  no  doubt,  come  so. 
But  in  some  respects  the  great  dead,  whose  faces  look 
out  on  us  through  their  biographies,  have  always  the 
advantage ; they  are  the  best  of  their  kind,  the  most 
picturesque  illustrations  of  the  characters  they  bear ; 
their  lives  upon  the  earth  are  finished  and  complete. 
They  will  not  change  some  day  and  throw  into  con- 
fusion the  lessons  which  we  have  learned  from  them ; 
and  since  they  belong  to  many  lands  and  many  times 
they  bring  us  a sense  of  universal  human  life  which 
cannot  come  to  us  from  the  most  active  contact  with 
living  men,  who,  after  all,  must  represent  very  much 
the  same  conditions  to  which  we  ourselves  belong. 

Therefore,  while  it  is  good  to  walk  among  the  living, 
it  is  good  also  to  live  with  the  wise,  great,  good  dead. 
It  keeps  out  of  life  the  dreadful  feeling  of  extempo- 
raneousness with  its  conceit  and  its  despair.  It  makes 
us  alway  know  that  God  made  other  men  before  He 
made  us.  It  furnishes  a constant  background  for  our 
living.  It  provides  us  with  perpetual  humility  and 
inspiration. 

There  are  some  of  the  great  old  paintings  in  which 
some  common  work  of  common  men  is  going  on,  some 
serious  but  most  familiar  action,  — the  meeting  of  two 
friends,  the  fighting  of  a battle,  a marriage  or  a 
funeral,  and  all  the  background  of  the  picture  is  a 
mass  of  living  faces,  dim,  misty,  evidently  with  a vail 


208 


BIOGRAPHY ; 


between  them  and  the  life  we  live,  yet  evidently  there, 
evidently  watching  the  sad  or  happy  scene,  and  evi- 
dently creating  an  atmosphere  within  which  the  action 
of  the  picture  goes  its  way.  Like  such  a picture  is 
the  life  of  one  who  lives  in  a library  of  biographies, 
and  feels  the  lives  which  have  been,  always  pouring  in 
their  spirit  and  example  on  the  lives  which  have  suc- 
ceeded them  upon  the  earth. 

I thank  you  for  your  kind  and  patient  attention, 
and  if  anything  which  T have  said  has  been  of  interest 
or  value  to  you,  I am  very  glad. 


I 


4 


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8 


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IO 


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ii 


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